


Porcelain, Ivory, Steel

by FromTheBoundlessSea



Series: Into the Unknown [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (he’s not), (sort of), Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, Angst, Being Rewritten, Big time skip after first chapter, Dany wants people to think he is, Dark Dany, Elia Martell Lives, F/M, Future Fic, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Lyanna Stark Lives, Minor Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Not Lyanna Friendly, Sansa thinks Jon his having an affair, Sexual Violence, She never faced any consequences for her actions, Viserys is nice, Wildlings - Freeform, abandoned, awkward Dad!Jon, but it’s not the point of the story, he’s a warning in himself, more tags to come, multiple POVs, they have a fifteen year old daughter, whenever Jaehaerys has a chapter be warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2020-05-20 03:10:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 48
Words: 88,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19368742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromTheBoundlessSea/pseuds/FromTheBoundlessSea
Summary: !!!!!!!THIS FIC IS ABANDONED AND BEING REWRITTEN!!!!!!!!!Sansa Stark had once believed in songs, but now she knows the gods do not intend her for love. Now, she must protect her daughter from the treachery of dragons and find that perhaps the gods have made her for more.Jon Targaryen loves his wife, but she is cold as the North she hails from. Perhaps it is only their daughter he will be allowed to cherish. As shadows begin to grow across the land, he finds a game of thrones has begun.Aemon Steelsong fears the Others are coming and those south of the Wall will be needed. He is haunted by dreams of fire and ice as he travels to the treacherous South. How will he get them to listen When he arrives?Daemon Martell wishes for nothing but peace, a peace he has lost long ago. But he finds that sometimes peace always comes at a price. Can he protect those he holds dear or shall he be consumed by the fire?Naerys Targaryen knows her duty. She will one day be queen, but she is surrounded by dragons who would love to see her fail and take her place. She knows she must be strong as her lady mother and turn from porcelain to ivory to steel.BEING REWRITTEN INTO A NEW FIC!





	1. Sansa I

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sapphires and Salt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11406975) by [WendyNerd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendyNerd/pseuds/WendyNerd). 



Sansa once believed in songs.

But that was before she had been set aside by her first betrothed. Aegon Targaryen had whispered sweet words to her when they were engaged. He had given her jewels and poetry and fabric. He had given her kindness and gentleness. She had given him all that she was as his lady betrothed. She had doted on him and loved him. She had been all that she had been raised to be—his future princess and future queen. But he had set her aside for Margaery Tyrell, married another girl in secret while still writing sweet words to her.

Sansa stopped believing in songs.

She had hoped that King Rhaegar would send her back North to her family. In her heart she realized that the South was not for her. She did not belong in the capital where dragons smiled like snakes and whispered sweet nothings with their breath of fire and blood. She wanted to go home, but King Rhaegar decided that she must marry into his family.

The king called Sansa’s cousin, Jon Targaryen, from his place in Dragonstone, where he spent most of his time with his aunt and uncle. When the three had arrived, the king announced that Sansa was to marry her cousin. She would never forget the look of annoyance in her cousin’s Stark eyes nor the glare she received from Princess Daenerys. Sansa would always remember her aunt, Queen Lyanna, petitioning for Jon to marry Sansa’s sister Arya, who was like her in all ways, but the king would not be dissuaded.

King Rhaegar then did the unthinkable: he removed Prince Aegon from the line of succession and made Jon the Prince of Dragonstone and his heir apparent. Sansa remembered how Aegon raged and said that the Martells would never stand for such a slight. Instead, Princess Elia, who had remained in King’s Landing for her children, spoke in favor of her ex-husband’s ruling. She had taken Sansa’s arm with her own and pressed a kiss to the Stark girl’s auburn hair. Oh how Sansa wished the lady were the one she would call ‘mother.’

—

Sansa married Jon Targaryen in the Sept, vowing to the Seven to be faithful. She was cloaked in the Targaryen colors. Her husband did not smile and did the least he was able to assure her that he might treat her better than his brother had. She sat at the high table and watched as the celebration took place, nearly alone save for her best friend, Jeyne Poole.

The Starks had not come to the South. It had been their way to petition the whole thing. They had not been the ones to choose her engagement to Prince Aegon either. Oh, how sweet it would be to see them all again.

She watched as her husband danced with his sister, his mother, his aunt, even Princess Elia. Not once did he ask for her hand or offer to allow some other lord or knight to dance with her. Sansa watched as he danced with his aunt for a second time and saw him smile only briefly at something the princess said. Daenerys smiled at him and kissed his cheek, but not before glancing at Sansa and giving her a wide, dragon-like smile.

Sansa turned her gaze, ignoring the slight.

“Would you care to dance, Princess?”

She looked up to see Prince Viserys smiling at her. Out of the king’s two siblings, she knew Viserys the best. His sister often remained in Dragonstone with Jon while he would visit the capital. He had always been kind to her, kind as Princess Elia had been. The two were perhaps Sansa’s only friends in court, even if she did not know him all that well.

Sansa smiled at him politely. “I am afraid I have not been given leave by my husband,” she said gently. “But your offer is kind and I would not wish you to be without a partner. Perhaps my handmaiden, Jeyne, may wish to take up your offer.”

Viserys gave her a sad, tight lipped smile before asking Jeyne to dance. The Poole girl agreed and they left to join the dance floor, leaving Sansa alone.

—

The bedding ceremony was awful. Viserys had kept a close eye on her, keeping men from getting too forward with their future queen. But it did not stop a few, such as Aegon, to paw at her breasts as they tore her dress from her. They deposited her into her husband’s chambers and closed the door behind them, leaving Sansa alone in her shift.

She had never been in her cousin’s chambers before. They were plain, nothing too grand, but her cousin did not spend most of his time in the capital. When he did, he spent his time with his mother or his siblings. She wondered if their chambers would be changed to Aegon’s old suite where she would have her own rooms and they would merely have an adjoining solar.

Sansa sat down on the bed and waited for her husband to come. She wondered if he would leave afterward or would he stay and hold her. Sansa had memories of her mother rarely staying in her own chambers. When she had been a girl, Sansa would go to her father’s chambers after many nightmares and crawl into her father's bed and sandwich herself between her parents and feel safe wrapped in their warmth.

She wondered if her children would have the same luxury.

Giggles and laughter came from outside the door and Jon was shoved in, wearing only his breeches. The door closed behind him and they were alone.

Sansa stood quickly and gave a curtsy. “My prince.”

“There is no need for formalities when it is just us,” he said gruffly.

“Are we at a place to be informal?” she asked. “We do not know each other.”

He looked at her then. Her husband looked her over and then focused on her eyes. Sansa wondered if he wished her hair were silver and her eyes violet. “No, I suppose we do not.”

Sansa looked down. “I shall be a dutiful wife to you,” she said gently. “I shall do my best to please you.”

“It does not take much skill to please a man,” he said, looking away from her. “At least, not in my experience.”

Sansa wanted to ask if he was more dragon than his wolf appearance credited him to be. But she did not ask. She did not wish to know. The king had cast aside his first wife for another and her first betrothed had done the same. Sansa wondered if her husband would cast her aside one day too or would he keep her as his wife and a keep a mistress to his bed once he was no longer pleased with her.

There were rumors that Princess Daenerys could not bear children. Was that all Sansa was to be then? A broodmare?

Sansa had once hoped she might find love in her marriage as her parents had, but she could not help if her husband loved another. She would do her duty to him and their people. He needed her and perhaps that was all Sansa would be given.

“Of course, my prince.”

Her husband stepped to her, he lifted his hand and his fingers brushed along the fabric of her shift. “I will try to make it pleasant for you.” He looked up at her with his sad grey eyes. He did not wish to be here. Perhaps he truly was more Targaryen than Stark. “May I?”

Sansa nodded and her husband kissed her.

She had never felt so cold, not even in the North.

—

Her first and only joy in her two year marriage to Jon was their daughter. The girl had been born on the eve of summer. Naerys Targaryen looked nothing like her father or the distant ancestor for which she was named. Instead, she looked like Sansa, with soft curls of auburn hair and blue eyes that were almost grey, like an overcast sky. The baby was a summer child with quick smiles and happy giggles.

Sansa refused a wetnurse, preferring to feed her daughter herself. She even asked that her daughter’s cradle be brought to her chambers. Her husband had not come to her bed at all during the pregnancy, his affection remained distant, touching her belly after asking and only when she commented that the babe was moving and he would take her arm, helping her when she wished to walk the gardens.

He seemed to love their daughter and Sansa had hoped that perhaps this would be their start. Perhaps their daughter would be their shared interest in which they might bond and grow more fond of one another.

However, even though his love for their daughter appeared to be great, he did not spend his time with Sansa or their daughter. He spent his time with his father or mother or sister or aunt.

Sansa would never forget the way Princess Daenerys had held Naerys and cooed over her saying how it was a shame the babe did not favor her father for it would be so easy to play pretend.

That night, Sansa had cried silently with her sleeping daughter in her arms. She had given her husband the one thing his mistress could not and still it had not been enough.

—

For a brief moment in time, Queen Lyanna was kind to Sansa and doted on her granddaughter. She would come and tell Sansa and Naerys stories of her adventures around King’s Landing and the forest beyond its walls. Sansa had found it odd that she rarely heard of the queen doing any of her more political duties but had quickly learned that Princess Elia continued most of those duties while Queen Lyanna went about her day with little care for the politics of it all.

Sansa was glad that her mother-in-law doted on Naerys, even saying that she was a true dragon with her hair like fire and blood.

However, as Naerys grew older, Lyanna began to lose interest when it became more obvious that the girl had taken after her mother in more than just appearance, but in temperament too. Naerys preferred songs and sewing to swords and weaponry. She preferred to spend time in Princess Elia’s solar to practice her sewing with her septa than to join her queen grandmother in the practice yard. Most of the royal household found Naerys to be somewhat of a disappointment, save the girl’s father, grandfather, aunt, great uncle, Princess Elia, and many of the servants.

Even so, Sansa’s husband did not return to her bed save for the rare nights he had allowed his father or brother to waste him with wine or when he had been dragged on a hunt with his uncle and brother and returned high from the rush of a good kill. But none of those rare couplings, which Sansa could count on one hand, had resulted in another child. Jon, instead, spent his nights in his own chambers and if he brought his mistress to his bed, he did not make it obvious to Sansa.

It mattered not. Sansa had long since given up hope that her husband might love her. She had her daughter and the few friends she had gained within the Red Keep and that, she supposed, was all that mattered.

Even so, she could not ignore the fact that her heart ached when her husband, who was kind and gentle and strong, was not by her side. She could only hope that he daughter would have the same, only her love would be returned.


	2. Aemon I

Aemon watched as the two direwolves danced around each other as he cooked his meat through. Only one of the direwolves was fully bonded to him, the male wolf with white fur and red eyes. Aemon had named him Ghost upon the tiny pups discovery. The pup had made barely any sound and to this day rarely made any noise save for when his mate, the she-wolf with grey fur and yellow eyes, refused to pay attention to him. Aemon had not named the she-wolf for he could tell that she wasn’t his to name, however when he did have to call her something, it was usually “my lady” since she seemed proper like a kneeler.

Most of his fellow Free Folk were nervous around the large beasts. Those who did not know him well stayed far away when he came further into camp with them. Those who did know him well would find that his wolves were gentle to those who meant him no harm, especially the she-wolf. She was a curious creature with so much gentleness that Aemon often worried for her. Although Aemon’s father trusted the direwolves, the whole point of the Free Folk banding together was to gain some sort of peace and the fear of a wolf bite would help no one. It was why Aemon lived on the outskirts of the main camp, away from his parents and two sisters. He didn’t mind much. His mother had worried that he might get cold living away from them but Ghost and his mate slept with Aemon most nights and it was hard to get cold with two beasts that were a great source of heat curled against him. The she-wolf was always especially warm, almost like fire. 

Many a girl tried to bond with the she-wolf if they felt especially brave. Tormund Giantsbane, Aemon’s father’s friend, joked that whoever bonded to the she-wolf was the woman Aemon would wind up stealing one day. Aemon never said it, but he silently agreed. He was bonded so closely to Ghost that it would be hard for him to bond to a woman who could not bind themselves to the she-wolf. Plenty of women had tried since he was a youth, it had started since his fifteenth nameday and had gone on for the past six years, but none had any luck. The she-wolf would turn her nose at them and rush to Aemon and tilt her head, asking for him to scratch behind her ears. 

Occasionally, he would sense that the she-wolf was not herself. It was usually when she and Ghost were on a hunt by themselves or when they were relaxing in Aemon’s tent. On the occasions that allowed him, Aemon would let his mind sink into Ghost’s and watch as his mate explored her surroundings as though they were not the ones she had been living in for a little over half a decade. Aemon would nuzzle against her and lick at her ears and she would huff silently and nose at his throat. He had never done it while in Ghost’s body and certainly never when the stranger seemed to inhabit the she-wolf’s, but it took a great amount of willpower to not mate with her as they wore the direwolves’ skin. 

After such moments, Aemon would pull himself away from Ghost and take himself in hand. He did not know what person, woman probably, that found themselves occasionally in the she-wolf’s skin, but Aemon felt drawn to them as though they were his own heart. He would wait for her. He’d let no man or woman share his bed while he waited for her. 

It was a lonely thing, he knew that. His mother and sisters worried about him. He had shared his feelings with his family when they had commented on why he had yet to try and steal any women, even though he was twenty-one. But they did not fight him on it. It was not as though he was to take his father’s place as King-Beyond-the-Wall, although there were many who thought that he should. 

It was lonely, especially when his best friend Little Sam, who was not so little anymore and was the size and shape of a large tree, had stolen Aemon’s sister Veena three years ago and had a little Mance of their own. It was not that Aemon did not want a family. He simply felt he could not have one unless he found her. It would be unfair to give any woman the hope of being his wife when his heart beat for a person he had never met. 

—

He dreamed of ice. Ice that stretched for miles and miles into a storm that grew upon the horizon. He knew what was coming. He knew who was coming. It was what his father had been preparing for. 

South. They needed to go South. 

They were not all warriors. He thought of his sisters and his nephew. He thought of the children brave enough to climb the back of his wolves. He thought of the elderly who had lived long enough to deserve peace. 

South. They needed to go South. 

Or else they would be met with ice. Ice that burned the skin into a dull ache and slipped in like death. Ice that came alive and rose like the moon and haunted and hunted the people he loved and cared for. His people. 

They were coming. They were coming. 

He dreamed of stormy blue eyes that were alive. Eyes that looked to him for protection. Eyes that begged him to live. He dreamed of blue eyes that could be as warm as a cloudless day. He dreamed of blue eyes that were so very lonely. He heard a voice whisper against the wind, against the ice. 

_It’s okay. It’s okay._

He dreamed of fire spreading below him fanned out amongst his furs as he let himself sink into the heat. He dreamed of his wolves howling into completion as though it was all it were meant to be. He dreamed of being kissed by fire as the world drew itself into a whispering promise of spring. He dreamed of warmth he had never felt before. 

He dreamed of ash and a fire that consumed all it touched. Fire that was not warm and welcoming like the fire he sank into or the fire that kissed him. This fire burned flesh and screams echoed across the waste of lands he did not know. A beast that breathed fire that consumed everything. He saw the beast mount a wolf as it howled in agony. 

He heard a woman scream. Her cries echoed across his mind as he reached for her. 

_Aemon! Aemon!_

He clawed his way towards her. He needed to get to her. He needed to save her. 

Blue eyes that were so lonely and so sad. 

_Stolen. Run. Run._

The wolf continued to howl as the scaled beast screamed in satisfaction. Thorns began to twist and knot around the wolf as she continued to cry in pain. Two other wolves frantically fought to free their kin from the thorns but the winged beasts of fire surrounded them. There were more. 

Fire. Fire. 

_Aemon. Aemon._

He dreamed of a girl being cradled in his arms. Her hair of fire pooled around them, mixing with the blood that dripped from his sword and soaked through her stomach. 

_It’s okay. It’s okay._

_Aemon. Aemon._

Her blue eyes haunted him and he looked up to find soulless blue eyes looking down on him. His sword was of flames. Kissed by the fire like the girl’s hair. 

His wolves howled. A raven crowed. A beast roared. 

Aemon awoke with a start and found the she-wolf nosing at his throat. 

—

He rode Ghost during the hunt, the she-wolf padding along beside them. Little Sam rode next to him on one of the few horses that were not skittish around Aemon’s wolves. 

Little Sam’s mother, Gilly, had come to Aemon’s father Mance for shelter after the twisted Craster had finally been killed. The woman had been heavily pregnant at the time and had been guided by a crow named Sam Tarly. The portly man had gone against direct orders in doing so apparently, but had returned to his sworn duties after making sure Gilly was settled in. Her son had been born soon after and she had named him after the Crow. He visited on occasion and the two other times Gilly grew quick with child, no one said anything. 

“There is less game here,” Sam muttered. They were a three days ride away from the closest camp but it was were desperate with the coming winter. “And it’s getting cold enough to freeze my balls off, I don’t know how you stand it, Aemon. You’ve got no woman to keep you warm.”

“I stay plenty warm with my wolves.”

“Aye, but they aren’t a woman. I’ve slept near Ghost and his lady before when we went out hunting, but my wife is better company.”

“To you, perhaps,” Aemon chuckled. “But your wife was my sister for longer and I still remember the annoying girl who pissed her bed because she dreamed a Child of the Forest eating her.”

“She would not be happy you said that.”

Aemon barked out a laugh. “I suppose not, but Little Mance is at that age or have you trained him out of it yet?”

“He’s getting better.”

Aemon smirked. He remembered his poor nephew coming to him crying because he feared his mother’s anger at more ruined furs. 

They and the rest of their party rode in silence as they neared the place where they had last spotted game. Aemon pulled off his bow and nocked an arrow, ready to get what little game they might. Ghost’s lady was an excellent hunter in her own right. She did not savage her kills as her mate often did. Her kills were clean and swift, easy to cut and portion without having to worry about excessive claw or bite marks.

They made their way through and froze. 

“Shit,” Sam muttered. 

The Others were getting closer. 

—

They raced back as quickly as they could back to the camp to tell Mance about what they had seen. They did not stop once. They couldn’t. It was too dangerous to. They needed to move quickly. 

When they reached the camp, Aemon made his way to his father’s tent, still on Ghost’s back. The Free Folk got out of his way quickly. The she-wolf raced ahead of them howling to let everyone know they were coming. Once they reached his father’s tent, Aemon leapt off of Ghost’s back and stormed his way into the main tent. 

“Aemon, what is going on?” his father demanded. “You know I don’t like your wolves howling around camp like that.”

“Father, the Others. They’re North a three days ride away.”

His father and Tormund, who was standing next to Mance, paled. “Send a raven to the Crow Commander. Let him know we’re coming South. Ask him to reach out to Lord Stark. We can’t remain this side of the Wall for much longer.”

Although the relationship between the Night's Watch and the Free Folk, there were still some tension. Aemon’s father had been in some correspondence with the Warden of the so called Northern Kingdom, Lord Eddard Stark. The man seemed to be wise and at least had an open ear. He seemed to at least believe them a little bit when the Free Folk spoke of the Others. 

“Aemon,” his father’s voice brought him back to attention. 

“Yes?”

“You are to lead a few men that you trust past the wall. You need to ask the Southron king for aid.”

“You want us to ask the king of the kneelers?!”

“We can’t manage this alone,” his father said gravely. “If nothing else, we need to be allowed South of the Wall. Lord Stark might give us some permission, but he may find trouble with his king if he does. Lord Stark’s daughter is the wife of the king’s son. Seek Lord Stark’s approval and you might be able to get her to listen to you and speak on behalf to her good father.”

Aemon nodded. “I understand.”

“Collect the people you want to take with you and head South by morning.”

Aemon nodded again. “I’ll make you proud, Father.”

Mance put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Fuck my pride.” He embraced his son and the two hugged for a short moment. “Just don’t do anything stupid. Your mother’ll skin me alive and hand me to the Others themselves if you don’t come back.”

Aemon nodded, letting his father go. “I’ll come back, with people to help. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, Aemon is Aemon Steelsong, aka Mance Rayder’s son. I’ve decided he keeps the same name. I imagine Mance heard about Aemon the Dragonknight while he was with the Watch. 
> 
> The next chapter is going to be from Naerys’s POV and we’ll see a bit of her relationship with Jon.


	3. Naerys I

Naerys Targaryen was every inch her lady mother. At fifteen, she was the very definition of what most would claim a traditional princess to be. She loved songs and stories, she loved to sew and play cyvasse. She was everything that one might imagine when thinking of a princess, but she was not the princess her family had hoped for. 

She was a disappointment to her grandmother, who wished to have someone who wanted to become the heroes of the songs as opposed to the maiden. She was a disappointment to her father who spent more time in the company of Naerys’ cousin Jaehaerys, which was not strange since they were both men. Her family simply did not understand how to relate to her as they knew not how to relate to her lady mother. 

Her only comfort was in Princess Elia. Her grandfather’s previous wife always left an open invitation for Naerys and her mother to come and break their fast with her or sit and see with her ladies maids. In truth, she is the grandmother that Naerys would have preferred, although she would never say so out loud. Her grandfather would hear none of it. The king and queen had a romance that many sang songs about, and Naerys would never deny the fact that her grandparents held genuine love and affection for one another. 

However, she could not help but question the cost. 

She knew what had happened to her great-grandfather and her great-uncle. She knew that her mother had been brought to the capital to marry her Uncle Aegon. Her uncle had followed in his father’s footsteps, save for the fact that he and Naerys’ mother had not been married yet. Then there were her own parents who she knew loved her but seemed to hold no affection for each other. Well, her father did not seem to. He preferred the company of his siblings or his aunt or his mother. Naerys, however, was almost certain her mother held some affection for the man who had sired her only child. 

Even so, despite the majority of her family finding reason to dislike her, she tried very hard to appeal to them. She would ride with them on hunts, although she took no part in the hunt herself. She attempted to learn weaponry, although she found all she was good at was archery, and even that held no true appeal to her. She picked up a sword on occasion, but rarely did she ever spar with anyone. Poor Podrick Payne would let her clank her sword to his, but the life-long squire did not dare try anything too hard with her and Naerys found that she could not dislike him for it. He was her shadow and she felt safe with him, even though he had yet to be given the title of _Ser_. He was also her best friend’s father and he acted as one to her in the times her father would travel outside the capital. 

Her life was not as many thought it might be, but it was her life and she knew no other. 

Life in the Red Keep was far from any song or story she had grown to love, but she knew that life was none of those things. The truth was either terrible or boring. Songs made life sound sweeter than it actually was. 

—

She was sitting with her friend, Lyarra Payne, her mother’s lady’s maid’s daughter, working on a favor for her father to carry along with her mother’s in an upcoming tourney, when her father came in. The two ladies stood, setting their work aside. 

“Your grace,” Lyarra gave a low curtsey. 

“Father,” Naerys gave a curtsey as well, although he was not as low as her friends. 

He nodded to the both of them and the Rose. “Naerys, I had hoped to go on a walk with you before I travel briefly to the Vale. Would you like to accompany me to the gardens?”

“Of course, Father.” She turned to her friend. “I shall see you for supper? I believe Princess Elia has invited us to dine with herself and Ashara Dayne.”

“Of course, Princess.” 

Her friend almost never referred to Naerys by her title in private. They had known each other since they were babes. They were bosom friends and she was like the sister Naerys never had. It always felt so distant when she was called by her title. 

Naerys took her father’s offered arm and walked with him towards the gardens. They were silent for most of the way, although they spoke a little of the weather and the upcoming tournament. Once they reached the privacy of the gardens, her father asked the question for which he had apparently wished to ask her. 

“You were injured last week while I was away,” he said softly, as her father often did. He was soft spoken when compared to her grandfather and uncle, especially towards Naerys and her mother, as though they were glass that might break at the sudden noise. “Why have I only learned of this recently? Your mother was quite livid.”

Naerys blushed. She had not wished for her father to hear of the incident. It was embarrassing and she had not wanted him to know of her humiliation. Out of all her relatives, she sought her father’s approval the most. 

“It was an accident,” she said softly. 

“An accident is where you spill tea on your mother’s favorite evening dress. An accident is not having your arm sliced open with live steel.” He put his hand over hers and squeezed. “Naerys, please tell me what happened.”

“I… I was sparring with Ser Podrick, as I do occasionally. He focuses on how I may block or at least deflect an attack, although he never comes at me at full force. He is married to Mother’s best friend and Lyarra and I are like sisters.” Naerys chewed her lip. “Grandmother saw that I was doing well and wished to spar against me. Ser Podrick tried to tell her that it would be unwise. However, grandmother would not be deterred. It was an accident. I was unused to such force. My arm was cut, but I would not say it was _sliced open_.” She looked up to her father’s sad grey eyes. “Do not be upset.”

He sighed. “I am not upset with you, sweetling.” Her father pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I am merely worried. You are… so much like your mother.”

“Is that not a good thing?”

“Your mother is a good woman and is loved by many, but the capital is not kind to good women. You are to be queen one day, you have to be more than just good. Especially to rule in your own right.”

“I will do my best to please you, Father.”

“You already please me, sweet girl.” He smiled at her and Naerys preened under such a look and at such praise. “I merely wish for you to be taken seriously.” He thought for a moment. “Perhaps… perhaps I could help you. I know you do not care for sword fighting, but the Westerosi way is not the only way. If you do not wish for it than I shall not force you. I just… I simply do not wish for _you_ to see yourself as a disappointment. Have you ever heard of Bravossi water dancing?”

—

“Your grace,” Joanna Martell curtsied, her lips curving into a smile she had mastered from Naerys’ Aunt Margaery. “I have heard that your father walked with you this afternoon, I hope that everything is well.”

Joanna was every inch her Lannister grandmother. Cersei Lannister had been punished lightly, considering what her twin brother had done and what her father had attempted to do. She had been given to Oberyn Martell as a wife mainly to keep her in line and to draw the Westerlands into the royal family’s fold. She had come to foster with Naerys’ Uncle Aegon and Aunt Margaery. The princess was very much aware that the Martell girl and her cousin, Jaehaerys, eyed each other when they believed no one was looking. 

Naerys trusted neither of them. She did not trust Jaehaerys, who thought the throne was his birthright, nor Joanna, who thought being queen was hers. 

“Can a father not walk with his daughter without there being some great need for it?” Naerys asked. 

Joanna blinked. “Of course. I suppose I was just wondering if your father had approached you with any marriage prospects. We are of age, afterall.” 

“My father had merely heard of last week’s incident and wished to make certain I was well. If marriage were to be brought up, I am certain my mother would be a part of the conversation.”

“Of course.”

“And what of you, Joanna? I hear that there are many who seek your hand. I heard talk of the river lord looking to ask for your hand.”

Joanna smiled, although the lion in her showed as it appeared to look more like bared teeth. “It has been spoken of, but my father wishes for me to have the very best.”

“Of course.”

“I am surprised that you have had no suitors, Princess.” Her lips formed more of a smirk then. 

“I am not. I share the blood of the North, the Riverlands, the Vale, and the dragon. What could most men offer me?” She glanced at Joanna and noticed the rose in her hair, a Tyrell rose that Jaehaerys often gave ladies he found appealing. “I am more than just a pretty flower to be plucked. I am the future queen. Such decisions can not be made lightly. Grabs for power rarely hold true and we do not wish for a civil war and we do not wish to insult my Northern family any more than some have already.”

Joanna’s smile froze on her lips. “Of course, your grace.”

The Martell girl left quickly. She was given the information she wished for, after all. There was no promise between Naerys and Jaehaerys. However, the princess had more Houses backing her than her cousin. She was not to be taken lightly. 

It was the problem with her more Southron family. They forgot that many battles were often won and deterred by words alone.

—

She dreamed she was a wolf again. 

She dreamed of the man again. 

She followed him and enjoyed the warmth of his touch as he brushed the fur of her neck and let his nails drag against her skin. They were moving. She wondered where they were going. The white wolf nudged her ear and she shook him away to look up at the man again. They were moving. Where were they going?

A raven cawing snapped her attention away from the man and she turns, returned to her own body. 

She stood by a weirwood tree and saw a man standing before her. He was thin and had curly dark red hair that almost looked brown. His dark blue eyes were blank but Naerys could sense the deep wisdom behind them. She recognized him, although she has never met him before.

“Uncle Brandon?”

“Your time has almost come,” he told her gently. His Northern accent felt strange against her ears. Her mother and aunt were the only people she knew to have it. Her uncle’s voice was so much deeper. “Will you be a dragon or will you be a wolf?”

“Uncle, what are you talking about?”

He disappeared upon the whisper of the winter wind.

_Winter is coming._

_It is coming._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon’s POV is next. We’ll get some interactions with Sansa, Lyanna, and Dany.


	4. Jon I

_ Jon Targaryen was said to be more wolf than dragon. He was not as quick to temper as his father or siblings or his aunt. He was most like his uncle Viserys in truth. Both men were quiet and didn’t quite care for politics. Jon had been content with his lot in life as the second son born from the second marriage. He had no aspirations for the throne and thought nothing of marriage. His birth had caused a civil war, he did not wish to cause more infighting between the Seven Kingdoms.  _

_ It was why the people referred to him as a wolf in dragon’s clothing. He wore the customary black and red, but many claimed he would look better in grey and white from his mother’s house. However, in truth, he had not know much about his mother’s family growing up.  _

_ His mother’s brothers resented her for her actions that led to rebellion which in turn led to Jon’s uncle and grandfather’s death and then the death of his Uncle Eddard’s best friend Robert Baratheon. His mother’s family had little to do with the South and with Jon or his mother. He knew little of the Northmen save for the brief stories his mother would tell.  _

_ He had known no Northmen until his cousins, Sansa and Arya, had arrived in King’s Landing. They were introduced but they rarely spent time together.  _

_ Arya sparred with him briefly but found she preferred sticking to her sister’s side, almost like a shadow, a protector of sorts, amongst this new environment. The Starks, after all, had little love for the Targaryens. The only reason Lady Sansa had been brought as a betrothed to Jon’s brother Aegon was because his father almost foolishly thought that marriage was the only way to mend the rift he and Jon’s mother had created.  _

_ His red haired cousin spent much of her time with Aegon and Princess Elia, whom Jon had a strained relationship with anyway. He knew her love of songs and stories, but little else of the girl save what his mother would occasionally say in passing and then in the letters she would send when Jon retired to Dragonstone to spend time with his uncle and Dany.  _

_ His mother had not been impressed with the Stark girl that was to become queen. She lacked a fierceness that his mother had and Queen Lyanna obviously favored her younger niece, saying she was a true she-wolf while Lady Sansa was a fish wearing a wolf’s pelt. Jon found that he could not disagree. The girl was nothing like the other women Jon had grown up around. She had charm and courtesy, true, but she seemed to hold none of the fiery passion Jon’s mother, sister, or aunt had.  _

_ In his mind, she was like glass, fragile like winter roses that bruised easily in the summer heat.  _

_ When Jon had learned of his brother’s marriage and the dishonor he had given Lady Sansa, Jon had understood for the first time what it meant to wake the dragon.  _

_ His father had called him from Dragonstone and Jon had ridden faster than he had ever, believing he was to step up and duel for his cousin’s honor as her closest male relative at the time. He had no qualms with his brother, he never had. Jon and Aegon were not as brothers, but close friends. But this injustice was not something Jon could stand. He would give justice to his lady cousin and then she would be free to return North where she might thrive.  _

_ So lost in thought was he that Jon never recognized that his aunt and uncle had come with him.  _

_ However, his father had not called him for Jon to seek justice for the dishonor done to his cousin, but rather to fulfill the initial contract his father had planned to tie the North with the South.  _

_ Jon had scowled. Had their family not done enough to the Starks that they would marry their eldest daughter after the Targaryen crown prince had treated her poorly? _

_ Even so, he had done his duty. He married his fair cousin and took on the mantle of crown prince. _

_ Jon knew that he was not what she had wished for. Her sister had returned North in protest to the marriage and no Northmen or Riverlords or Valemen came to the capital to oversee the wedding. His wife asked for not one dance and she declined his uncle Viserys’ offer in her own protest.  _

_ On their wedding night, he had done his duty and left her side after the deed was done and he had brought her to pleasure, not wishing to impose himself upon her privacy. He continued to visit his wife’s bed until she got with child.  _

_ When their daughter was born he petitioned his father to allow Naerys to be his heir, unless a son be born to him, as to not impose his needs upon his wife who was still quiet with him, her eyes downcast when she had sheepishly handed him his daughter.  _

_ He took no lovers and he found no love in any other woman save his wife and daughter. They were his heart and he would not betray that. He would not become his father or his brother. He loved his wife, and though she held no love for him, they shared their daughter and if that was all the affection he would be allowed, then it was all Jon would need.  _

—

Jon knew that his daughter had not spoken of the incident to place blame on her grandmother. Naerys was not type of girl to place blame on those who were not at fault. What she had said also rang true of something Lyanna Targaryen might do.

Jon knocked on his mother’s chamber door after nodding to the kingsguard stationed outside. 

“Enter,” she called. 

He opened the door and stepped through, closing it behind him. 

His mother turned and smiled at him. Jon took after his mother in appearance. His wife had commented that Jon looked a little like her father, his uncle. They stood out as Princess Elia and Princess Rhaenys did. Wolves in appearance, but something of fire and ice beneath. 

“I hear you are to go to the Vale after the tourney.”

“Aye. My wife’s cousin has made a fuss after his mother’s recent death. He fears it was murder and I am to see if there is any justice than needs to be delt.”

“Surely someone else could handle it. Would you not rather take part in the hunt after the tourney?”

Jon would. “It is my duty to aid my wife’s family”

His mother frowned. “Is your duty not to  _ your _ family?”

“It is,” Jon said. “It’s why I’m going.”

His mother had never understood his willingness to stay by Sansa’s side even though they had only one child, a daughter, together. The queen told Jon often that he deserved a true she-wolf, or at least a woman who did not walk on glass, as a wife. 

Jon did not agree. His wife was different from any woman he had ever met and she had given him his daughter. There was nothing else he could ask for. Just because he did not know how to be a proper husband to her did not mean his feelings were any less true. 

His mother sighed. “I fear you leave me with few people to converse with when I am forced to. There is Rhaenys and Dany of course, but I wish that my granddaughter had even an ounce of the fire I know you to have.”

Jon clenched and unclenched his fist. “Speaking of my daughter, I ask that you not engage her in duels when her instructor tells you she is not ready.”

His mother frowned. “Jon, you can’t think I  _ meant  _ to hurt her.”

“I know you didn’t. But that does not change that you ignored Ser Podrick when he told you that Naerys was not ready and caused her harm because of it.”

“It was just a scratch,” his mother huffed. 

Jon ground his teeth together. “Aye, but it does not change that you used live steel against a girl who can barely lift a sword above her head.”

“If she did not wish to spar, she could have told me so.”

“She wishes to please you,” Jon reasoned. “You have made it clear that you do not approve of her.”

“She is too much like her mother, Jon. Too soft and without backbone. When I was told that Sansa was my brother’s daughter I almost laughed. My brother may have been quiet, like you, but his daughter was more fish than wolf.”

He remembers his wife telling him once, when she had been ordered to bedrest with Naerys still in her belly, that her father had loved her but had been very strict. 

_ “I could never live with myself if I were the reason my brother or his best friend were dead.”  _

He doubted she remembered her words for she had been sick with a slight fever, but the words had struck deep into his heart.

King Aerys who had killed Rickard and Brandon Stark, Jon’s father said he had no part in it. He had killed Robert Baratheon in combat and then marched against his father, only to find him killed by Ser Jaime Lannister’s sword. It was easy to place blame on the Mad King. Rarely did Jon hear any word of blame placed on his parents for running away as they had. 

_ “The North remembers,”  _ his wife had whispered. She had faced the consequences of his mother’s actions. 

“Do not ask my daughter to spar again,” Jon said darkly. “She is a child.”

“I was married to your father when I was her age.”

“Aye,” Jon nodded before leaving. And Westeros nearly burned for it. 

—

Jon checked with the few white cloaks who would be accompanying him to the Vale. He had not shared it with his mother, but he feared that there was something amiss about Lysa Arryn’s death. He hoped that he was wrong, but feared that he was not. 

He headed back to his chambers when he came across his aunt, Princess Daenerys. She had practically been raised by Jon’s parents since her mother had died during birth and the Mad King had been killed by his own kingsguard. In truth, she was more a sister to him than Rhaenys was. Perhaps it was their closeness in age, but It felt as though he and Dany had always been together. 

It broke his heart just a little that she did not seem to care much for Naerys or Sansa 

“I hear you are to go to the Vale then,” she smiled. 

“Aye. It is probably nothing, but I wish to make sure rather than it become something later.”

Dany shook her head with a soft laugh. “A very Jon thing to do.” She came closer to him. “Are you to participate in the tourney.”

“Sadly.”

“Don’t be like that,” she giggled. “You know you will probably face Aegon this year. Jaehaerys is also participating this year.”

“Gods, I can’t believe he’s sixteen this year.”

“They grow up fast. We all do, I suppose.” She smiled up at him. “It seems like just yesterday we were playing monsters and maidens along the halls of the keep.”

Jon smiled at the memory. He missed those days of innocence. Before he understood how he had come to be in the world. Why he and his siblings had different mothers. Why his mother’s family wanted nothing to do with him. 

“I miss those days,” Dany said gently, placing her hands on his chest to straighten his collar. “Back when it was only us.”

Jon opened his mouth to answer when he noticed his wife standing in the hallway. He stepped away from Dany to greet his wife properly with a bow. “My lady.”

Dany turned as well and smiled. She curtsied. “Your grace.”

Sansa gave a small dip of her head before turning her gaze to Jon. “We have a few things to discuss before the tourney. If you are busy we can convene later.”

“No,” Jon said quickly. “We can speak now.” He dipped his head to Dany. “Aunt.”

She chuckled and swatted at his chest. “Nephew.”

Jon went to his wife and offered his arm. She took it carefully, keeping her eyes downcast. He put his hand gently over hers. 

“I spoke with my mother earlier,” he told her. “She will not ask for Naerys to spar again.”

He could feel his wife relax against his touch. “I am sorry that she did not take after you, my prince.”

She rarely called him by his name. Once when her water had broken. She had whispered his name in pain and he had carried her to the maester himself. A few scattered times afterward when Naerys said her first word and had taken her first steps. 

Jon wished she would say his name more often. He squeezed her hand. “I am glad she takes after you. Our daughter will be loved as Princess Elia is.”

Sansa looked up at him and her lips curved into a soft smile. 

How Jon wanted to kiss her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully you see a little of where Jon is coming from. He doesn’t have the illusion of the might of the Targ family, but he still falls under some of it. I hope you can at least see he DOES love his wife and daughter. Again, it’s like if Ned and Cat never properly communicated. So this is sort of a slow burn/mutual pining/established “relationship” all at once. 
> 
> Jon is oblivious to Dany’s flirting because he sees her as a sister. Dany (however) doesn’t care. She’ll get a POV too. 
> 
> Next up is a visit from Arya. You’ll get a little back story in her chapter too, but mainly on her marriage to Viserys. Also, Stark sister solidarity is a THING in this fic. Their childhood was a little different after all.


	5. Arya I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating change. I will include moments of sexual stuff but noting explicit. Never anything explicit.  
> I will warn you when something is about to happen before every chapter.  
> So, yeah. Some sexual stuff in this.

Arya greeted her sister as her niece hugged Arya’s husband fiercely. Viserys held the girl tightly before bending on one knee to ask her how she was and telling her of some of the presents they had brought back for her. Arya already loved her husband, but his care for their niece made her love him even more. 

Their three children were coming down from the ship, two reluctant to leave the place they prefered. Brandon, Arya’s fifteen-year-old son, swaggered onto the pier and hugged his cousin awkwardly. He was still coming into his own growing limbs and Arya secretly found it hilarious to watch his attempts at being too cool to be interested in most things. Jenny, their ten-year-old, was Arya in miniature although her appearance took after her father. She began to babble to her older cousin about all the pretty things they had seen in their travels as well as many exaggerated adventures. Sansa, their youngest at five, looked like Arya save for her reddish brown hair and took after her father in temperament. She was holding onto her father’s leg and soon enough she was in her father’s arms, settled carefully at his hip. 

“They’ve all grown in the last year,” Sansa commented, looking at Arya’s family interact with Naerys. “Brandon is shooting up. He definitely takes after his father in that regard.”

Arya huffed. “I am not _that_ short.”

Sansa laughed. “How long will you be staying this time?”

“A few years.” Arya patted her belly, which had yet to show quite yet. “As usual.”

“I thought Sansa was to be your last.” Sansa shook her head. “Didn’t you say you only planned on three children?”

“When have Viserys and I ever followed through with a plan?”

“You actually got married for one.”

Arya chuckled and shook her head. “Aye. But that was more you and him than me. Although I’m glad our marriage didn’t cause a scandal like most of his family seem to enjoy making.”

They had been married before the godswood in the Red Keep. None but Sansa knew of it until the next morning when a maid had found Viserys in Arya’s bed. Although her husband was ten years her senior, something Arya loved to tease him about, she could not imagine herself being married or having children with any other. 

He cared not for politics, preferring to sail the seas with their family. Her husband was also the calm to Arya’s storm. Perhaps it was because he was older, but he curved her more rash decision making. He was also an excellent father to their children, never forcing his own will upon them. Even though Brandon had decided upon staying in the capital even after the baby was born and ready to travel, Viserys had simply sat their son down and told him to always be wary of those who might not be trusted. 

“Is Brandon really going to stay in the Red Keep permanently?” Sansa asked. 

“He says it is because he wishes to be a knight, but I feel there are more reasons than that.” Arya smirked. 

“Oh?”

“Jeyne’s daughter writes to him occasionally. I believe he thinks himself in love.”

“Should he make a decision based on that alone?” 

“Vis talked to him extensively. This will also be a time where he can think on it.” Arya watched her husband ruffle their son’s hair and Brandon straightening it out with a huff. She glanced at her sister and saw Sansa smiling. 

“It would be nice for Naerys to have a cousin so close.”

“Mother!” Naerys came and held her mother’s arm. “Uncle Viserys has brought me paints from Meereen.”

“That’s wonderful, sweetling. Have you thanked him?” Sansa stroked her daughter’s auburn hair and tucked it behind the princess’ ear. 

“Of course!”

Sansa smiled. “Then perhaps you can lead your uncle and cousins back to the Keep. I shall walk behind with your Aunt Arya.”

The princess returned her mother’s smile and took her cousin’s offered arm and led them all back into the Red Keep. 

“Our offer always stands, you know,” Arya said, squeezing Sansa’s hand as they made their way to the loathsome place of dragons and vipers and lions and thorny roses. “We would help you and Naerys leave this place. We could take you North or wherever you wish to go.”

“I know it is and I know you would.” Sansa sad, patting Arya’s hand. 

It used to annoy Arya, how proper her sister was, everything their lady mother wanted in a daughter. The opposite of their queen aunt who had plunged the land into war. However, as they got older, Arya realized something about her sister. Sansa was proper and did all she was asked so Arya did not have to be required to step in. 

She was well aware that their aunt had wanted Arya as a bride to the prince, Jon Targaryen. Arya had found him to be a good swordsman, but not much else. He seemed too wrapped around his mother and aunt to be interesting. So, Arya stuck by her sister’s side and was there when Aegon broke her sister’s heart and how little Jon attempted to mend it when they became engaged. 

Sansa had followed the king’s command without comment and asked Arya to leave. At first Arya had thought she hadn’t wanted a Stark to be represented as a way to show that their family did not fully stand by the marriage. However Viserys had told her once when they were first married that it was Sansa’s way of protecting her from the wolf queen’s schemes. 

 _“Jon knew nothing of Sansa. A man with no feelings is easily swayed by the type of woman he knows well,”_ Viserys has told her as they rested in her bed. _“She did not wish for you to be thought of in the same way Lyanna is viewed by the people.”_

Sansa had protected Arya, always had, and part of Arya was angry at herself for not noticing that sooner. 

Arya rested her head on Sansa’s shoulder. “You’re too good for all of them.”

Sansa laughed. “I simply do not want to abandon my duty. Perhaps if I thought Daenerys or even Aegon and Margaery truly cared for the people rather than the power, I might leave to give Naerys a chance at freedom outside these walls, but they do not. I stay because I will not do as our aunt did. I will not place my needs or my heart first.”

Arya looked on to her niece and prayed to the old gods and even the new that they might grant her a life where she might find happiness. 

—

How Arya missed a steady bed. 

“Viserys!” 

He groaned into her shoulder as his hips slammed against hers once, twice, thrice more before he spilled into her. Arya shuddered around him and held onto him like he was her only tether in the open seas. He had kept himself above her with his forearms, but Arya could feel his muscles tremble slightly. Viserys slowly lowered his upper body to hers before carefully slipping out of her and rolling them into his back. 

“You will be the death of me,” he grumbled. “I don’t think my heart can take it.”

Arya smiled and slid off his chest and to his side. “You’re barely over forty,” she hummed, rubbing her hand along his stomach.

“You do make me feel younger.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Gods, why have they cursed me with a wife who never tires.”

“I shall tire soon enough once the babe makes their presence better known.”

Her husband reached over and stroked her belly tenderly. His thumb brushed against the slight bulge and he kissed her head again. “Will it be a boy or a girl?”

“I pray it is a boy,” she admitted. “I am glad that Brandon is spreading his wings, but I worry about him being here.”

“Sansa and Elia will look after him, make sure the Tyrells and the Lannisters don’t sink their claws into him. Besides, he cares too much about his cousin to let anyone use him to harm her.”

Arya sighed and reached up to comb her fingers through her husband’s silver hair. “Even so. I don’t like that he is to squire under Jon.”

“He is not that horrible of a man, you know,” Viserys said gently, capturing the hand in his hair and pressing featherlight kisses to the tips of her fingers. 

“I do. Sansa does not hate him, for one, and I know he dotes on Naerys when the king does not send him to do his bidding.”

It was true. She did not hate Jon Targaryen. She simply hated that he seemed to care not for how his inaction affected his wife. 

“My brother is more the villain in all this than Jon is,” Viserys said, “to be honest.”

“Why do you not like the king?” Arya crosses her arms on his chest and rested her head on them. “He is your brother.”

Viserys looked up the canopy of their bed and began to play with her hair, twirling locks of it between her fingers. “He’s my brother but he is so much older and he never tried to connect with me in the way he did Dany.” He closed his eyes. “I still remember the rebellion. I remember my brother disappearing without a word, leaving Elia and the rest of us alone with my father. He knew the sort of man my father was and still left, knowing that your family would not simply twiddle their thumbs up North when their only daughter had been taken.”

“Viserys, you don’t have to—”

“Please.” 

His voice shook and Arya leaned up and pressed kisses to his eyes and she tasted the salt of his tears. He spoke of it rarely, but in those moments she knew he was a boy once more. 

“Father made me watch as your grandfather burned and your uncle strangled himself. He grabbed me by the hair and made me watch telling me that a true dragon takes what he wants and no wolf or lion or fish or viper or stag can change that. _Burn them all_ , he had said. _Burn them all_.”

His tears began to fall freely and Arya sat up and held her husband in her arms, stroking his hair and soothing him as she often did when one of their children had a nightmare. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her breast. 

“Then I was sent away with my mother as she was nearly ready to give birth. And then he was dead and the rebellion over and I was an orphan with a little sister who did not understand the storm she had been born into.” Viserys held Arya tightly, burying his nose into the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her breast. “And then we returned to the capital where my brother was crowned king. He was smiling as though nothing had happened, as though his actions had not…”

“Shhh…” Arya stroked his hair, pressing kisses to the top of his head. “Let it out.”

“I cannot be like Dany. She wasn’t there. She didn’t see what chaos he caused. I can’t be Aegon who views his father as a role model, believing that a dragon can do as he wishes without consequence. Rhaenys is the only one who understands but she wishes to never think of it and even she was not made to watch.” He shuddered. “I will never forget your grandfather’s screams, nor the smell of burning flesh. I can’t.”

Arya held her husband for a long time, rocking him slightly. Her beautiful husband who was so broken despite the strength he held. “You are not your father,” Arya whispered to him. “You are not your brother. You are Viserys, husband of Arya, father of Brandon, Jenny, Sansa, and a child yet named.” She pressed his hand to her stomach. “That is who you are.” She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him. “That is who you are.”

—

The next morning, Arya was called into the queen’s solar. She was reluctant to go she was more irate with her aunt and the king every morning after her husband broke down in their bed about what he had experienced, what trauma they had inflicted on him without any acknowledgement or care. Rarely did Arya interact with the queen anyway, preferring to spend time with her sister and niece, but the queen had sent the message early, before Arya had even broken her fast. 

Lyanna was still the queen and Arya did not wish for her behavior to be used against Sansa. 

Arya knocked on the door. 

“Enter,” her aunt called. Arya entered and closed the door behind herself. The queen smiled and stood. “My favorite niece,” she said with a wide smile and wrapped her arms around Arya in a forced hug. “Do come in, I've had food prepared for us. You are eating for two now.”

Arya sat down carefully and ate quietly, waiting for whatever it was her aunt wished to say. 

“I don’t understand how you can cope with being so restricted,” Lyanna said. There it was. “There is so little you can do while pregnant.”

“I find it quite rewarding,” Arya said carefully, “considering the outcome.”

“Oh yes,” her aunt agreed. “However it can be so trying.”

Arya ground her teeth together, trying very hard to not let out a rude statement come about. 

“Women like us need our freedom,” Lyanna continued. “It is so dreadful that we must _rest_ when we long to go out and do as we wish.”

“I do not find it a burden knowing I am spending my time growing a person,” Arya was able to offer. 

“Even so. I feel like journey of motherhood is so much more awful for us since we were not made to keep still. Your sister, on the other hand.” The queen had the nerve to laugh. “I am surprised that she has not given my son more children. She is a woman of more leisure and has nothing else to do.”

The teacup in Arya’s hand cracked and broke. Lyanna jumped slightly but before she could ask if Arya was okay, the young she-wolf spoke first. 

“My sister spends her days looking after the people of this city as well as the rest of the smallfolk in the Seven Kingdoms. She spends her days teaching her daughter, _your granddaughter_ , about how to survive court as you go riding or spend your time in the training yard.” Arya snarled. “My sister is working tirelessly to help Westeros and learning under Princess Elia what it means to be queen. Forgive me for not agreeing with you. My sister is not a woman or leisure. I’m sure you do not know the true meaning of the word. My sister works for the people she is to one day rule while you find leisure away from the duties of an actual queen.” Arya stood. “I will not sit here and allow you to belittle my sister’s achievements. Good day to you aunt. I hope you enjoy your time of leisure while I speak to the council, where my sister will be present, to let them know what has been happening in the rest of the world.”

Arya turned on her heels and stormed out of the queen’s solar, slamming the door behind her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehe! Arya is not here to listen to you degrade her sister. Not here for it at all. 
> 
> On a sadder note, Viserys is so different from his counterpart because he withstood the abuse from his father and also watched what happened to Rickard and Brandon Stark. He watched the consequences of Rhaegar and Lyanna’s choices and he did not like them (to put it mildly). 
> 
> Also, to help, these are everyone’s ages.  
> Rhaegar: 61  
> Lyanna: 52  
> Elia: 64  
> Viserys: 42  
> Arya: 32  
> Rhaenys: 40  
> Aegon: 38  
> Daenerys: 36  
> Margaery: 35  
> Jon: 37  
> Sansa: 34  
> Aemon: 21  
> Naerys: 15  
> Jaehaerys: 16  
> Joanna: 16  
> Lyarra: 15  
> Brandon: 15  
> Jenny: 10  
> (Little) Sansa: 5
> 
> The next chapter is going to be from Lyarra’s POV, so a non-royal. Also, in case anyone missed it, Lyarra is the daughter of Jeyne Poole and Podrick Payne. I decided that since Jeyne had horrible sexual experiences in canon, she deserves to be with a sweet man who can treat her right.


	6. Lyarra I

Princess Elia might not be the queen, but she was  _ the  _ queen. She entered the Ladies Council chambers with all the grace her royal upbringing had afforded her. Lyarra looked at the princess with a blush as they all stood respectfully for her. She smiled at them all and nodded before sitting down, signaling them all to sit down as well. 

The princess had started the Ladies Council shortly after Princess Sansa married Prince Jon. The King’s Council was made mostly of men and focused broadly on the welfare of the kingdom. The Ladies Council focused on the welfare of the people. Since starting the council, Princess Elia and Sansa had begun a reading program in Flea Bottom that had done so well it was being implemented in the other kingdoms. The higher literacy rates had allowed for a shrinking crime rate as well as allowing those of lower birth to find themselves more stable jobs. Princess Sansa had also created a home for single women and their bastards so that, even if their families or the fathers refused them aide, they had a place to go besides the brothels. 

“Tell me,” Princess Elia said, “what is being done about the food storage. Although it has yet to come, the Citadel says that a long winter is coming in a few years.”

“The Reach has already begun storing food,” Lady Margaery said with a gentle smile. 

Lyarra had to hide her scowl. There were three women in the capital that Payne girl had no care for: the queen, Princess Daenerys, and Lady Margaery. The former crown prince’s wife was the only one who showed up to council meetings. Perhaps it was to appease her good mother or it was to keep her hand in politics. It mattered not, she was a rose of many thorns and Lyarra was well aware that the woman wished for her eldest son to marry Naerys. 

“Very good,” Princess Elia nodded. “Sansa?”

“The North has already begun creating more glass gardens to help with food growth and storage there. My father is sending the plans of how to create them South so that they may be built here in case the winter gets worse here.”

“The Reach will be able to store enough food,” Lady Margaery said with a simpering smile. 

“Perhaps, but should we run low, I doubt many lords will share with the smallfolk. It is better to have too much than too little.”

“Perhaps,” Naerys said, leaning forward slightly in her chair positioned between her mother and Lyarra, “we should have glass gardens built in every village as well, so the smallfolk need not rely only on their liege lords. It would take a lot of time to build, but it would give jobs to many people. And if they themselves are the ones to build it, they would be better able to repair it if need be.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Princess Elia said with a smile. 

Lyarra watched as her friend gave a shy smile at the praise. 

The meeting continued, focusing more on the smaller details, such as Princess Elia’s project of encouraging the arts or Lyarra’s own mother’s suggestion of holding competitions that allowed for smallfolk to learn alongside squires and be sponsored by families of higher statuses. When the council was finished, Lady Margaery left quickly, stating she was to meet with Princess Daenerys and the queen soon after. Lyarra, once again, kept herself from showing her disdain. 

“I can’t stand that woman,” she said under her breath. For all that she was her parents’ daughter, Lyarra was fiercely protective of her friend. 

Naerys patted her hand. “Then it’s good that she is aware of it. I would hate to be on your bad side.” The princess laughed. “Or your good side. How is my cousin?”

Lyarra blushed. “We have walked a bit.”

“He has not done anything to call you into action?” Naerys teased. 

“Naerys…” Lyarra whined. 

“There is no need for embarrassment,” Princess Elia said, putting her hand on Lyarra’s shoulder. “I’m certain songs will be sung of your meeting.”

“Aye,” Princess Sansa shared a smile with Lyarra’s mother. “A good Northern drinking song.”

Lyarra turned a brighter red, but still smiled. The first time she had met Brandon Targaryen, Lyarra had broken his nose because he had made Naerys cry. It had been an accident on his part, having ruined the new dress Princess Rhaenys had made for Naerys’ birthday. Lyarra had been unaware of this and simply saw a boy she did not know making her friend cry. Without thought, Lyarra had rushed forward and punched him in the face. Everyone thought it a funny story. They had all been eight at the time. 

“Are we to meet in your solar for sewing after supper?” Naerys asked Princess Elia. 

“Of course,” the woman replied. “Now off you girls go for your lessons.”

The two girls rushed off, hand in hand.

—

“Cousin.”

Lyarra tensed as Prince Jaehaerys approached the two girls as they were leaving their lessons. He was handsome, with his silver hair and violet eyes. She wasn’t blind. Even so, the prince was too much like his parents for Lyarra to feel any comfort in his presence. 

“Cousin,” Naerys replied, her tone was ice. There was little warmth in her voice. 

“How did your lessons go?” His eyes slid down her body and then up to her eyes. 

“They went well, your grace,” Lyarra said stiffly. “The princess has always done well in her lessons.”

The prince’s smile froze on his lips. He took Naerys’ hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “As always, cousin, you are impressive.”

Naerys allowed herself to smile and Lyarra watched their interactions carefully. Rumors had flown about that the prince’s parents were attempting to make a match between Naerys and himself. None had been acknowledged, but Lyarra feared that they might hold true. Even though Prince Aegon did not hold the support of Dorne any longer, he was a Targaryen prince with the Targaryen look. For two generations the Targaryens had not intermarried and Lyarra worried that they might again, especially with rumors of the king reading books of prophecies. 

“And how go your lessons, cousin?” Naerys asked innocently. “I hear you are becoming a better swordsman. Not as good as my father, of course, but you are coming along.”

Lyarra watched with amusement as the prince attempted to keep the sneer of his lips. “My father is just as good as yours,” he said slowly. 

“Some may say otherwise.”

He narrowed his eyes and gave a small bow. “Cousin.” Prince Jaehaerys quickly left them.

“He’s more snake than dragon,” Lyarra muttered. She looked at her friend and saw her staring after the prince, her eyes hard. “Naerys.”

“He’s planning something,” she said. “He and his family, mainly the Tyrells.”

“Has there ever been any doubt?” Lyarra asked. “I mean, his mother had hoped to be queen by marrying his father.”

“They miscalculated how angry the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale would be.  My family holds more military power than most, however, they had placed their hopes on Dorne backing them, but the Martells saw only another Targaryen prince almost leading the kingdoms to rebellion with his cock.”

Lyarra nodded. It was rare that her friend used such language, but it was apt in this situation. “He didn’t think of how the Dornishmen still hold resentment towards what the king did to the princess.”

“The realm loves Princess Elia. They call her the true queen of the Seven Kingdoms although all know never to say such things where my grandfather can hear.”

Lyarra nodded again. “What will you do if the king orders you marry the prince?”

“I will argue against it. It isn’t a wise match. Prince Aegon was taken out of the line of inheritance because of his actions, as hypocritical as that is coming from my grandfather. The realm would not stand for his child to be rewarded to be king, especially the almost confirmed rumors that Jaehaerys had been conceived while my uncle was still engaged to my mother. At least my father was conceived after my grandparents were married.”

“Who would you marry, if you had the choice?”

“Someone brave, gentle, and strong,” she answered. “Someone who is brave enough to fight for our people. Someone gentle enough to take the hand of even the poorest child in times of crisis. Someone strong enough to step back and let me lead as I am made to.”

“You speak of a storybook prince.”

“I speak of a dream.” Her eyes grew distant. “I would marry a Dornishman,” she changed the subject. “Perhaps one of Princess Arianne’s sons. Should my grandfather suggest a marriage to Jaehaerys, I will ask for a Dornish match.”

“Would you be happy?”

“Happiness is the one thing we queens cannot have.”

“Surely it is possible.”

“Name one Targaryen queen who was every truly happy. Name one Targaryen queen who was able to rule in her own right. Perhaps, one day I will love the one who will be my husband. But at first it will be politics and intrigue. Unless my parents have a son, I will be at the mercy of a king and queen who will always find fault in me. All I can do is stand before them and offer a better choice for the sake of my people. Robert’s Rebellion almost tore Westeros apart. We cannot let such a thing happen again.”

—

They sat in Princess Elia’s solar in relative silence as they sewed and embroidered. Lyarra worked on her a handkerchief for her father in the upcoming tournament. It was of her house’s sigil. She worked on it carefully, hoping her father would be pleased with her work as he always was. 

She glanced over at Naerys. The princess was working on a tapestry of a weirwood tree. Two wolves sat on both sides of the trunk, howling to the moon. One was white and the other grey. The leaves of the tree had fallen, looking like blood upon the snow. 

It was horrible and beautiful all at once. 

“A dream,” Naerys said, when Lyarra asked where the idea had come from. “Only a dream.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m thinking of adding the Dornish plot. Initially I was just going to have it talked about, but I think I might give more POV over there as well. Initially, I was hesitant to go more in depth about it because I didn’t want to ruin it like D&D did, but I feel like it would help you guys get more as to why they don’t back Aegon. What do you guys think?
> 
> Did you guys like Lyarra’s POV? I know there are many OC POVs, but I hope that’s okay. It’s still very centered on Jon and Sansa at the moment as well as many of the characters from the original series (including Aemon). 
> 
> Rhaenys will be making an appearance soon, especially if I’m giving the Dornish plot an actual POV. 
> 
> Aemon II is next and we’ll get to see the Starks and how they are doing.


	7. Aemon II

Winterfell was larger than Castle Black, not that he imagined that it would be smaller. Even so, the great stone holdfast gave Aemon a sense of awe he only felt around the Wall. He had heard stories that it was named Winterfell because it was where winter fell during the last Long Night.

Aemon knew little of kneelers save for some of their history and the fact that they had only recently been somewhat welcoming to the Free Folk. Trade was the main communication between the two people with the Night Watch keeping the peace. Aemon wanted to snort at the idea of it. Peace. They needed to do more than simply tolerate each other if they wished to survive the coming storm. 

The man leading them was the son of the kneeler lord of the castle. Rickon Stark looked every inch like one of the Free Folk. His wife Sigrid was one of their own, a woman soft in temperament and more suited for a kneeler’s life. They were wild and proper all at once. Aemon had met the young Stark only once when he was a boy. His father had taken him to Castle Black to see the changing of the Lord Commander's title to Benjen Stark, a man solemn and thoughtful. Aemon could only hope that Lord Stark was willing to listen to him and back him when he went to see the kneeler king. 

“My father will believe you,” Rickon said, glancing at Aemon. “The North remembers. Even if it was ages ago, we remember.”

“This is fucking south,” Little Sam muttered under his breath. 

Aemon felt his lips twitch into a smile, but forced it down. That did not stop Sam Tarly from snickering. 

“And will your king?” Aemon asked. 

Rickon’s gaze darkened. “Perhaps, but the king does not have many friends this far north.”

They entered Winterfell’s gates and Aemon dismounted his steed. Ghost and his lady had gone off to hunt. Rickon had promised that no harm would come to them and Aemon knew that no one would be able to get close to them if the direwolves did not want them to. The rest of their party dismounted and Rickon gave a short bow and his wife gave a short curtsey. Their daughter Tilda, a girl with wild dark hair, rushed forward screaming with delight and ran into the arms of an old man with a long solemn face. 

Lord Stark picked the girl up in his arms and pressed a scruffy kiss against her cheek, tickling the girl until a few giggles escaped her lips. After giving enough attention to his granddaughter, Lord Stark looked at the party the girl had come with. “You must be Aemon.”

“Aemon Steelsong,” he said stiffly. He didn’t know the pleasantries of the south, but he knew that if he did one thing wrong he might offend them and then Aemon might lose their aid. “I believe the Lord Commander of the Night Watch already wrote to you.”

“Indeed,” the lord glanced at the rest of Aemon’s companions. “I will offer you guests rights and then we may get down to business.”

“That’s all I ask.”

—

Aemon had never seen so many redheads in one room in his many years of life. All three of Lord Stark’s sons were kissed by fire. They must be blessed then, Aemon supposed. 

“We get it from our mother,” Rickon told him. “Then that’s from our Whent grandmother.”

Aemon blinked, having no idea what the man was talking about. 

“Family down south,” he continued, as though that explained everything. 

“Shall we get started then?” Lord Stark’s eldest son Robb asked. 

The man’s son, who was maybe a year or so younger than Aemon stood by his side. The boy, Torrhen, stood with his arms crossed, his tanned skin glowing slightly in the light. Rickon had told Aemon that the boy’s mother was from across the sea. Torrhen eyed Aemon suspiciously. It didn’t bother him much, he knew that there was still some animosity between the kneelers and the Free Folk. 

“Benjen said that the Others are no mere fairy tale,” Lord Stark stated, although it sounded more like a question. 

“Aye,” Aemon nodded. “They move slowly, but they are making their way down South. My father fears for our people.” He glanced at Lord Stark, not wishing to make the request out loud. 

“He wishes for me to allow your people past the Wall,” Lord Stark narrowed his eyes. 

“A greater truce than we already have. If you won’t let all of us come, at least let the women and children come through.”

“The king won’t be pleased.”

“Aye, and you told my father your king wouldn’t be pleased about you opening communications with us, but here we are.”

A smile tugged at the old man’s lips. “That he wouldn’t.” He looked down. “What proof do you have of the Others?”

“My mother knew of them,” Little Sam said. “My sire was Crastor. He would give up boys to the Others so that he wouldn’t be bothered by them.”

“That could just be an old wives tale,” Torrhen said. 

“Aye, but I’ve fought them,” Aemon said. “I’ve watched friends get slain and then stand and fight again, but now time against us.” He looked to Lord Stark. “The dead won’t stop at the Free Folk. They’ll find a way past the wall and the whole continent will know what the True North is like. I heard that your family’s words are  _ Winter is coming _ . Well, it is, but with an army that could destroy everything.”

Lord Stark listened carefully. “Do you have any physical proof?”

“Aye. Sam.”

His friend brought forward a box that had begun to move on its own. It was large so that when Sam Tarly opened it, the hand of the wight would not get out. The Starks looked in a mix of awe and horror. The box was closed and sealed securely. 

“Thousands of full bodied wights comes for all of us. I know that your people and ours have defeated them before, but we merely pushed them back. We need to finish them for good.”

“This is why you wish for the king to give his aid,” Robb asked. 

“Aye.”

“You might be able to convince him to give you aid,” Lord Stark said carefully. “But he might ask you to bend the knee in return.”

Aemon stiffened and failed at hiding his sneer. “I’m no kneeler.”

“I’m aware of that, I am simply warning you.”

“Who would we want on our side down South?” Sam Tarly asked. 

“My daughters and my good son Viserys as well as my grandchildren would be good allies in earning the king’s favor. My nephew, Jon, might also be convinced and that would go a long way with his father. Princess Elia might also be willing to listen since, especially with the proof you have.” Lord Stark paused. “I cannot let your people past the wall until the king has heard of this. I can’t risk my daughters and grandchildren in war if the Others are coming.”

Aemon gritted his teeth. “I understand.”

—

“Why does your family not like your king?” Aemon asked as Torrhen Stark showed them where they might settle in for the night. 

The young Stark stiffened. He looked back to Aemon. “He did our family wrong and he faced no consequences.”

“What did he do?”

“He took my great aunt when she was engaged to another man. Believing she had been taken against her will, my great grandfather and my great uncle went to the king, our current king’s father, and asked for her return. The Mad King burned my great grandfather alive and had my great uncle strangle himself in the hopes to free his father. Then, the Mad King called for my grandfather’s head. The kingdoms were pulled into a rebellion. The man my great aunt was engaged to met Rhaegar on the battlefield, believing he was seeking justice for the rape of the woman he loved and was killed for it. Only then did we learn that Lyanna Stark had gone with the prince willingly. The prince had divorced his wife, who had borne him two healthy children, and married Lyanna in his first wife’s home of Dorne. Then, they had my cousin Uncle Jon. All those lives lost because a man couldn’t control his cock and a woman preferred not to do her duty.”

“That is a lot,” Aemon admitted. Could he even trust such a king to do right for the realm if he did not care for it in the first place?

“That’s not all,” Torrhen said. Apparently, this was something the boy had bottled up for too long. “Then the king has the gall to order my aunt to marry his oldest son. The man followed in his father’s footsteps and married another woman, bringing shame to our house and dishonor to the supposed treaty he had forced the North to sign. Instead of freeing my aunt, he had her marry the son of the woman who had brought our realm to war.”

Aemon knew little of politics, he wasn’t fool enough to say that he wasn’t. However, even he could see how such things would be wrong. “And your aunt?”

“She is to still be queen as the king has taken his first son out of the line of succession. My cousin is his heir. Although even this far north we hear of the whispers for her to marry her Targaryen cousin to bring unity to their house once more.”

Something about that didn’t sit right with Aemon, although he could not place it. “I will keep all that in mind when I go further south then.”

Torrhen nodded and left Aemon alone. 

—

Aemon  was running down a hall of stone, a small hand in his. They needed to leave. They needed to escape. They could not turn back. 

_ Aemon.  _

He was falling, a scream was ripped from his throat as he lost hold of the hand in his own. He’d lost her.

_ No. No. No.  _

The darkness was taking him and he tried to claw his way out. The piercing sting of ice at his back and the blistering heat of fire before him. 

_ Aemon!  _

She was screaming. She was in pain. 

_ Aemon!  _

He needed to get to her. He screamed her name, but the sound was mute against his ears. 

_ Aemon! _

Blood coated his hands, his arms, and he felt a heavy weight against them. Unseeing blue eyes looked up at him. 

_ No! _

Aemon shot up from his furs. His lungs were on fire and he was drenched in sweat. He pushed the fur off of him and climbed out of bed. He needed… he needed…

He was moving and he had no idea where he was going. Aemon stumbled out of the room provided for him and made his way out of the castle, the cold air stung his lungs but it only made him more awake. He kept moving until he found himself before a weirwood tree. He fell to his knees before the face and tried to breathe. 

He could still hear her screaming for him. 

“I knew I’d find you here.”

Aemon looked behind him and saw Lord Stark’s second son. Bran, he thought his name was. The man was missing one arm, his right from his elbow down. His blue eyes were unnaturally blank and Aemon found that he couldn’t read them. 

Aemon stood. “What do you want?”

Lord Bran looked up into the red leaves of the weirwood tree. “It’s all about to begin. They players are taking their place.”

“What are you on about?” Aemon demanded. 

The lord looked back to Aemon, his gaze unwavering. “You will meet her soon.”

Her voice rattled along in his head. “Who?”

“Her.”

“Stop speaking in riddles!”

Lord Bran blinked. “Will she be a dragon or a wolf. What will be her choice, I wonder. I’m not supposed to look too closely at her. I wonder who she’ll choose.”

Aemon narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

“I am the Three-Eyed Raven, but I am also Brandon Stark. I am a wolf. Everything that happens will be something we have seen before.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Why, indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arianne Martell is getting a POV next! 
> 
> As you guys might have guessed, Bran is the Three-Eyed Raven in this as well, but he’s going to be vastly different from the one in the show. He’s still Bran here. 
> 
> We also got a bit of why the Northerners don’t particularly like the Targs or Lyanna. Torrhen gives a broad overview, but it’s the basic feeling of it all. Sam Tarly is here as well, which is why Little Sam is refereed to as Little Sam to separate the two. Aemon still having those dreams. 
> 
> What do you guys think Bran’s constant question of whether or not Naerys will be a dragon or a wolf means? 😘


	8. Arianne I

She closed her eyes tight to keep the tears from her eyes. She had dreamed of him again, her husband. Arianne had many lovers in her youth but none had compared to him. Wymar Royce has been a solemn man with a kind heart and their love had sated her even eight years after his death. The princess watched her love live on in her children.

Her oldest son, Olyvar had the long face of her late husband and the quiet humor that drifted over the heads of his many cousins. As Arianne’s heir, he was meant to take on the leadership of Dorne one day and he held that honor with pride. Her daughter-in-law, Irri, was more like Arianne in her joy and laughter. She was good for Olyvar and their daughter, Mellario, was the jewel in Arianne’s eye. Well, at least one of them. 

Her youngest son, Daemon, had once been more outgoing, but since the death of his lover, a girl who had served as one of Irri’s handmaidens, he had become more subdued. More serious. Even so, his fiercely protective nature was all from Arianne and she knew her youngest took after her in most things. She wished for her children to be happy, but it wasn’t always possible for those with royal blood. 

A knock came to the door. 

“Enter.”

Daemon came in, his dark curls were damp and his tanned skin had a slight sheen to it. Since there was a smell of spice in the air, Arianne supposed that it must be from a bath as opposed to sparring. 

“You asked to see me, Mother?” He came to her and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. 

She smiled and put the same hand on his cheek. “I did, but first how is—”

“As good as it can be,” he said quickly. 

Arianne grimaced. “I’m sorry, sweetling.”

“It is no ones fault but the gods,” he sighed, putting his hand over her own and then sat next to her, clasping her hand in his lap. “I can understand your anger better now.”

She had never wanted her children to go through her heartbreak. But, again, sometimes it was out of her hands. 

“What is it you wish, Mother?”

“Have you heard rumors of Princess Naerys?”

Her son blinked. “I know she is pretty and takes after her mother in appearance. She is partially funding a glass garden project in a few villages from her allowance. I have also heard that she is in Princess Elia’s favor and does not get along well with the queen.”

“Anything else?”

“Whispers that she is to marry her cousin, Jaehaerys.”

“Exactly,” Arianne said coolly. “Jaehaerys who is in his Tyrell mother’s pocket. There are even some rumors that he is wooing your cousin Joanna.”

“So the Lannisters have their eyes on him.”

“The mere fact that they have been Martells for two generations and are still called lions is worrisome,” she said. “Although both the prince and Joanna have Martell blood in their veins, their loyalty is to the Targaryens, Tyrells, and Lannisters. Our family had hope in Aegon, but then he nearly started another rebellion with half the kingdoms because he married a girl whose family wished to wrap their thorny hands around the dragons.”

“The princess has the blood of the North and the granddaughter of the woman who took Princess Elia’s place as queen.”

“And the North has little love for the queen. Many were lost in the rebellion, but Eddard Stark lost much. A father, a brother, a friend. All because his sister couldn’t think beyond her own desire.”

“How truly Targaryen of her.”

“From what Princess Elia has written me and what Rhaenys tells me, Sansa Targaryen and her daughter Naerys are not like the queen. They seem to actually care. They don’t view themselves as gods.”

“You’ve brought up the princess for a reason. Why?” 

Arianne squeezes his hand. “I want you to go to King’s Landing and see if Princess Naerys is as good as the rumors say. I trust my aunt, but I trust your judgment more.”

“What are you planning?”

“I would rather a Martell be king than another Targaryen.”

“Mother.” His face grew ashen. “I cannot—”

“The North has wanted independence for a long time, as has Dorne. We may not be allowed independence, but with the right people on the throne we might have freedom.” Arianne slipped her hand from Daemon’s and placed it on his cheek. “I will never force you to marry unless I have to. For now I wish to know what Princess Naerys is like when she believes no one important is looking. I want to know what sort of queen she will be. Can you do that?”

“I can guess how you want me to do this and I’m not thrilled.”

“If she is not all the rumors claim her to be, feel free to return home at once, but if she is indeed as kind as she is pretty, see where it goes. You deserve happiness, Daemon.”

“I am content with the happiness I have.”

Arianne smiled. “Perhaps, but you and your happiness deserve more.”

—

“I hear that young Daemon is to travel to King’s Landing soon,” the alto voice of Arianne’s _beloved_ aunt came from behind. 

She turned and saw Cersei Martell coming up from behind her. Although her dress was of Dornish design, the red and gold was all Lannister. Arianne knee her aunt to be a bitter old woman who had sunk her claws into Arianne’s cousin Joffrey, while her uncle Oberyn spent his time in more enjoyable company. She did the same with Joanna, although the girl was more simple minded in her search for pleasure. Arianne felt only a little sad that the girl probably truly thought the Targaryen prince loved her. 

“He’s traveling with Princess Rhaenys, yes. There is a tournament and he has always wished to go. I thought it might help brighten his mood.”

“Yes, he was quite distraught when his whore died.”

Arianne kept her lips in a firm line. “Should we not all weep when a beautiful flower withers?” 

Her aunt sniffed. “If it were noble perhaps.”

“Whatever you say, aunt.”

“Don’t think I am blind to your ambition, Arianne.”

“Ambition? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You plan to have your son interfere with Joanna’s relationship with the prince.”

That was the true downfall of the Lannisters, Arianne thought, they believed everything was about them. “She needs friends in the capital. We don’t want her being taken advantage of. Imagine,” she smirked at the thought if only to see her aunt’s expression, “your little lion cub birthing a Waters because she is not careful. I hear Waters are not as valued as Sands.”

Her aunt’s lips pursed and Arianne gave her a wide smile. “Good day, aunt.”

—

“You really want to push Naerys and Daemon together?” Rhaenys asked as they lounged in the princess’s room playing cyvasse. “She’s only fifteen.”

“And he’s only nineteen. I don’t plan on them marrying right away.”

“His loss is still too fresh.”

“Which is why friendship will be fine with me. Marriages have been built on less.”

“Naerys is my niece.”

“I’m aware of that too.”

“My brother still doesn’t know how to handle her except for as though she were glass.”

“Jon always was a bit of a fool when it came to girls.”

“Our father doesn’t help considering he sends Jon out of the capital to check on the realm since Aegon has no desire to. He is rarely in King’s Landing for an extended period of time. I have tried to speak to Jon about Naerys, but he still views her as a little girl who needs a valiant knight or prince to keep her safe.”

Arianne snorted. “There are more than two types of women in the world.”

“He needs to figure that out. I’m too old to get him to understand that.”

“You aren’t _that_ old, Rhae.”

The princess smiled. “I’m not, but Jon makes me feel decades older. I’ve been trying to encourage Sansa to be more open with him, but she’s protecting herself and her daughter. Why risk the balance they have for Naerys’ sake when she doesn’t know the outcome for certain.”

“The North became careful with the Targaryens and Sansa has already been burned once.”

“And now you send Daemon.”

“He’s a good man and a good queen needs good men who will fight battles for her when she is unable to. If Naerys wishes to be a queen in her own right without leaning on her male Targaryen relatives, she needs people she can trust.”

“She’s a smart girl, she might know what Daemon is there to do. You’ve written to her haven’t you?”

“I have. She’s aware that some may push her to marry Jaehaerys. She doesn’t find that wise. Frankly, almost everyone in Dorne thinks the same. Now, if you had a son, I would happily support that match. But little Elia is a girl. She’s coming with you as well?”

“She’ll begin to serve in Naerys’ retinue. Considering the amount of enemies the princess has, I will feel better knowing my daughter can protect her.”

“I heard the queen has _attempted_ to put a sword in the princess’ hand.”

Rhaenys scoffed. “The queen is a fool if she thinks a woman’s only power is if she can wield a sword. Words can be far more dangerous. Imagine if she had used her words to go against her engagement to Robert Baratheon as opposed to saying nothing and choosing to spark a rebellion based on the belief she was being taken advantage of.”

“Which is why I want Daemon to be placed near the princess. He can be a man of action while the princess can be a queen of words and thought.”

“She’s a good girl,” Rhaenys said. “She has a kind heart. I’m sure she’ll pass your little test.”

“I hope she will. I would feel more secure with her on the throne with Jaehaerys nowhere near it.”

“He’s eyeing Joanna, so that helps very little.”

“Joanna wants the crown but not the responsibility that comes with it. The Lannisters always make things so personal. It isn’t. It’s just politics. The Tyrells have a better head for it, but it’s only about looking good. They don’t actually care.”

“Naerys has enough to wade through. Having Daemon would help her, even if nothing truly comes of it.”

“Exactly.”

“But you want it to.”

“A Martell as the queen’s consort. A Martell as the consort to a queen with the backing of the North, Riverlands, and the Vale. I hear even the Stormlands prefer her. Then there are the people in the Crownlands who adore her and her mother.”

“It would be a good match.”

“It would.”

“It would also bring an end to any possibility for a pure Targaryen line.”

Arianne smiled. “Exactly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked this chapter. I had fun writing from Arianne’s POV but this chapter is a little shorter than the others because I’m married I didn’t do her justice. This chapter also had a whole bunch of politics in it.  
> In this story it truly is a lot of women pulling the strings behind the political game going on and I feel like that’s how it’s always been, even if it’s not always so obvious.  
> If you have any background questions feel free to ask!  
> I have made some temporary family trees for this fic. The Targaryen, Stark, and Martell ones are here: https://fromtheboundlesssea.tumblr.com/post/187149988708/targaryen-stark-martell-the-martell-one-is-not and Aemon and Little Sam’s are here: https://fromtheboundlesssea.tumblr.com/post/187151771568/aemons-family-little-sams-family  
> Naerys has a POV next! ❤️


	9. Naerys II

She broke her fast with her mother that morning in her parents’ solar. Her father had already gone to the training yard, as he often did. Although he occasionally broke his fast with his family when he was home, his duties often called him away. Naerys’ Uncle Aegon did little of his own duties, preferring to do as her grandfather had when he was crown prince, which was very little politics and simply doing as he wished, which led to Naerys’ father doing more than he should have had to. 

“How are your lessons going?” her mother asked. 

Naerys smiled. “It’s going well. I’ve also drawn up the plans for the glass gardens and how they might be easier to build based on the kingdom they are in. It might also encourage more trade between the kingdoms in order to get the necessary materials for all the glass gardens.”

Her mother took Naerys’ hand in hers and squeezed it. “I’m so proud of you.”

The young girl let her smile grow into a grin. She enjoyed her mother’s pride. She was her mother’s daughter in every way and she enjoyed bringing her mother joy. “Your home for unwed mothers helped me think of the idea.”

Her mother chuckled, withdrawing her hand. “Let others give you credit where it is due, Naerys.”

“Yes, Mother.” Naerys paused. “Mother?”

“Yes, sweetling?”

“Father offered to bring me a Bravossi water dancing teacher.”

“A what?”

“It’s a type of sword fighting style. It’s more performative than anything for duels and such.” She had read up on it and it appeared interesting, but she wasn’t certain if it would be something she would enjoy. 

“Is it something you want to do?”

Naerys looked down at her lap and fiddled with her skirt. “I… Father thought it would be a good idea. He said I did not have to if I didn’t wish to, but perhaps I could try it to please him.” She could see the pain in her mother’s gaze and Naerys had to look away. She was not like her grandmother or great-aunt Daenerys. Her father said he was proud of who she was but she could not help but think he would be prouder if she could just be… more. “He said he would not be disappointed if I did not wish to, but I could at least try. I… Grandmother might even praise me if I learn how to water dance. I simply do not want to appear weak to them.”

“Kindness is not a weakness, Naerys.”

“It is not, but perhaps they would all take me more seriously if I could at least defend myself a little.”

“I won’t stop you if it is truly what you wish to do.”

“I can at least try.”

Her mother smiled gently. “At the very least you can try.”

—

“Naerys.”

She turned at the mention of her name and curtsied when she saw her grandfather approach. Naerys could certainly see that her grandfather had once been quite handsome with his curly silver hair and violet eyes, but she could see the exhaustion in them and the grey that took over most of the silver coloring. The Silver Prince has turned into a Grey King. He was not meant for ruling, she thought. At least he hadn’t when he had been crowned. 

The king smiled at her and took her hand and kissed it. “Might you accompany me to the gardens and tell me more of your glass ones.”

“Of course.” She took her grandfather’s offered arm and he led her to the gardens and away from a few lords who he had previously been walking with. 

“You have saved me, Naerys,” the king chuckled. “I fear they were about to drag me to another boring meeting about the tournament.”

Naerys smiled. “It cannot be all that bad, Grandfather.”

He sighed. “One day you’ll understand that being a king, or queen, often entails boring paperwork.”

Naerys already knew that and actually enjoyed coming up with plans for things, but she knew her grandfather preferred being out amongst the people playing his harp as opposed to doing what he should be doing as king.

“I quite enjoy a bit of paperwork.”

The king smiled and pressed a kiss to her temple. They entered the gardens and continued to walk. “I hear your plan for the glass gardens has been received well.”

Naerys beamed. “Yes! I asked my Uncle Brandon to find the plans for how to build them and they should be on their way soon. Winter is coming, after all, and the Citadel says it will be a long one.” She continued to babble on about her plans, happy that her grandfather had taken an interest. Naerys began to wind down when she realized her grandfather was only being polite. “Is there anything else you needed, Grandfather?”

“Can’t I simply walk with my granddaughter?”

It mirrored something she had said to Joanna half a month ago, but her grandfather wasn’t like her father. This was different. “You can, I am simply wondering if there was anything you needed from me.”

He smiled at her. “You’re of age now.”

“Barely,” Naerys conceded. “I’ll be sixteen in three months.”

“It’s time to start thinking about what comes next. One day, you’ll be queen. You need a king by your side. Targaryen queens have not done well by themselves.”

They hadn’t faired well with Targaryen kings either, but Naerys did not point that out. “I'm still young, Grandfather.”

“Even so, it is better to think of these things now rather than later.”

“And who would you suggest?”

“Your cousin, Jaehaerys, would be a good choice.”

Naerys slid on her mask carefully. “I don’t think so,” she admitted. 

Her grandfather blinked in surprise. “Why ever not?”

“I do not think it wise for Jaehaerys and I to be engaged,” she admitted as though she were being shy. Her grandfather, for all his talk of her being of age, no doubt still saw her as the little girl who used to sit on his knee during council meetings. “He and I are too different. I don’t care for him in that way, to be honest.”

“He’s a good man.”

He wasn’t really, but he was very good at hiding his womanizing ways, or at the very least his mother was able to keep it hidden from the king. “I feel like it would be wise to marry outside the Targaryen House. We have for the past three generations. People still remember King Aerys and I know _you_ and Uncle Viserys and Aunt Daenerys are fine, but the people still remember. The _North_ remembers. I think people might not take kindly to another Targaryen union. Perhaps I could marry a Dornishman or a Valeman.”

“Marrying Jaehaerys would show a unified Targaryen family.”

“But what if Uncle Aegon? If his son is to be king, why did you take him out of the line of succession?” She looked up at him with wide innocent eyes. “Would that not cause my other grandfather and the rest of the Starks to feel slighted?”

His lips formed a hard line. “They might.”

The people still remembered Richard and Brandon Stark. The people still remembered the humiliation her Uncle Aegon has brought to her mother. No, the Starks would not be pleased that Naerys would be married to a Targaryen. Many people did not. She might not have the Targaryen look, but it was her name and her appearance would not distract from that fact. 

“Can I not marry for love as you did, Grandfather?”

He smiled at her softly and kissed her temple again. “I hope that you shall, sweetling.”

—

She dreamed of a white direwolf snarling as men as pale as ice came toward her through the fire that surrounded them. She stumbled back as the sound of a heart beat began to drum all around her. One man stood out amongst the rest. His eyes were blue and piercing, his sling looked as though it were truly made of ice, spikes like a crown circled his head as he stepped forward. 

The wolf growled and lunged at the man only for him to be batted away. 

“No!” Naerys cried. Her heart was breaking. She continued to back away from the man until she was pressed against the white wood of the weirwood tree. The man drew closer. “No! Stay back! Someone help me!”

“Naerys!” A voice called to her. She recognized it but did not know it. It sounded like home. It sounded like the freshness of snow and spring all at the same time. “Naerys!”

She was bleeding. She looked down and saw her stomach turning red. It felt right. Fire and blood. Ice and fire. 

Naerys looked up to the ice king and saw that he looked at her as though she was something he wanted. Something that he both loathed and loved. He reached out to touch her face. 

“No!”

“Naerys!”

“No!”

_Wake up._

She shot up in her bed, a thing layer of sweat coating her skin. Naerys tore herself from her sheets and raced to her mirror where she touched her cheek and looked closely to where the man of ice had almost touched her. Her heart was pounding in her chest like a drum. She sank to her knees when she saw to physical evidence of her dream or the touch.  She tried to breathe but found it hard to. 

_Caw!_

She looked to her window and saw a raven sitting on the sill. It had three eyes. 

_Caw!_

It was summer still, and yet the ice of winter still felt cold in her veins. 

—

There was a small party which meant dancing. Naerys quite liked dancing, although she did not always like her dance partner. Especially the one she was with now. 

“I hear grandfather is beginning to speak of marriage for you,” her cousin said through his lizard smile. 

She returned it. “I have put it off for another year yet, I believe. I am only fifteen, after all. We wouldn’t wish for a boy or man to take advantage.” She held in the wince when Jaehaerys’ fingers dug into her waist. “It wouldn’t do to have a man think he was anything other than my husband.”

“He would be king.”

“In _name._ ” She could see his jaw tighten. “I see Joanna is dancing with a rather lovely Riverlord. I heard that her mother quite agrees with _that_ match.”

“He isn’t worthy.”

“I doubt you would think anyone worthy. Does she know? Does she know you would abandon her should we marry?”

His grip on her tightened and he smiled once more. “Who said I would abandon her?”

Naerys smiled back. “How very much like Uncle Aegon you are. Such a very Targaryen thing to say. Shall you bring back King Aerys marriage traditions as well?”

“I am _nothing_ like that man.”

“They say every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin. Which side of that coin are you on, Jaehaerys? You can be happy with Joanna without the throne. Without the responsibilities. Let it go.”

“It’s my right.”

“We could have been siblings, you and I, had your father chosen his duty. You could have been the brother I went to for protection and care you would have been the person I trusted most. Choose your duty, Jaehaerys. To our people and to this family. Don’t fight me. It will only bring heartbreak and destruction to our kingdom. Don’t let our generation bring another rebellion as your father almost did and our grandfather _did._ ”

Her cousin said nothing as the dance finished. Even so, Naerys knew he had not listened. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naerys is playing the game. Do you think she’s playing it well?  
> What did you guys think of Rhaegar?  
> What do you guys think of Jaehaerys? What part do you think he will play in the grand scheme of things?  
> Sansa has a chapter next! Some Jonsa moments will appear in the next chapter! ❤️


	10. Sansa II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Jonsa moment! Please be happy! ❤️

“May I have this dance, my lady?”

Sansa looked up and saw her husband extending his hand to her. She was not so surprised as she had been many years ago when he had first asked her to dance after their wedding. He danced very rarely as he did not appear to like it. Their wedding had apparently been a time when honor demanded he dance with many people, even if he did not find it wholly enjoyable. His mother appeared to be the only one ever all but ordered a dance out of him. However, with Sansa, he always asked if he might dance with her. He never once demanded that she go upon the dance floor with him and also encouraged her to dance if she so wished to. 

She loved dancing, but rarely did so. She danced with Aegon during their courtship and it had soured the practice a great deal. However, she enjoyed dancing with Viserys, when he visited, since the man loved dancing, but Arya did not prefer the Southron dances of King’s Landing. Sansa danced with the king occasionally, but it was more for discussions of politics and asking what news she had heard of the North, as though her letters were not read beforehand. 

She loved, however, dancing with her husband the most. 

“I would be honored, husband,” she answered, taking Jon’s hand. He led her out onto the floor and they began to fall into the steps of the dance. He held her close and gently, not forcing her around the room in harsh turns as she had spied Jaehaerys doing with Naerys earlier or as Aegon had many years before. Instead, he led, guided her with their own momentum until they were locked in their own little world of touch and sound and breath. 

“And how are you, my lady?”

Very rarely did her husband say her name. He had said it in bed, with grunts and moans that made it sound as though she were wanted. He said it when Naerys was born and on scattered occasions where he spoke of their daughter with such pride in his voice that she had always smiled. “I am well, my prince.”

“I have heard that three knew maester have received their chains, all of which had begun their lives in your reading program.”

Sansa blushed. “I was not the one who inspired their love of learning.”

“No, but you did aide it. How many people might they be able to help due to your initiative? How many more might come after them?”

Sansa dipped her head down, her nose brushing against his chest, in her embarrassment. “It is nothing, my lord.”

“My lady, it could be everything. One person can be the difference between life and death for many.”

She stole a glance and saw he was smiling down at her. In moments such as these, she could believe he loved her as more than just the mother to his child. Her husband, for all that they were, was never by her side for too long. The king often sent him away to different parts of the realm to help with disputes. Perhaps it was because he did not have the Targaryen look that eased people’s minds, however it had been his duty when he had not been the crown prince and yet the king kept his son at it. 

Sansa could still remember Jon setting his foot down and refusing to be sent out the first year of their marriage and then the first year after Naerys had been born. He loved their daughter, of that, Sansa had no doubt. 

“Jon.” He looked down at her, his grey eyes dark with something Sansa did not recognize, however she did not fear it. “The king has begun to speak to Naerys of marriage.”

Her husband frowned and the dark look disappeared and for some odd reason, she missed it. “She’s a child.”

Sansa nodded. “While I would not begrudge talk of engagement, he is already speaking of marriage.”

Jon’s eyes narrowed. “My father has not even spoken to  _ me  _ of this.” He squeezed her hand gently. “Has he spoken to her of who he wants her to marry?”

“Jaehaerys.”

His eyes grew dark again and this time Sansa felt a little afraid, but knew such anger was not directed at her. “It would be unwise for any of us to intermarry.”

“If Rhaenys had a son, I would not object, but Jaehaerys…”

“Is his mother’s son.” He dipped his head closer to hers. “It would be an insult to you and our family, Sansa, if my father ordered such a thing.”

She looked up at him fully, her eyes wide. He pulled back, his cheeks flushed. “I will speak to my father. While he is the king, Naerys is our daughter. She should marry a Northman, a Riverlord, a Valeman, or, better yet, a Dornishman, if my father wishes to create an alliance. Which he should.”

“I wish for her to marry for love, Jon,” his name escaped her lips with a squeeze to his shoulder. 

“And she shall, my lady,” his lips brushed against the crown of her head. “I promise.”

—

“I see you and Jon were dancing,” Arya said, offering Sansa a drink of wine as they watched the dancing continue. Jon had been called away by his mother in order to settle some argument between herself and the king. Nothing serious, just a memory the two could not agree on. 

“We were,” Sansa replied, accepting the drink. “And now our children are.” 

Naerys and Brandon were laughing as the two attempted to dance. Her nephew did not take after his father’s skill, but he always attempted to dance to please his cousin. She was very obviously leading him, but he seemed not to mind. Sansa had no doubt the boy wished to practice so that he might not step on Lyarra’s feet once he had the courage to ask the girl for a dance. 

“You’re changing the subject,” Arya said in a slight sing-song tone. 

“I am continuing the subject of dancing while also saying it doesn’t mean anything.”

Her sister sighed. “Have you spoken to him at all? About wanting another child?”

To stall, Sansa took a sip from her goblet. She had wanted a second child for a long time, but she had been so very afraid of broaching the subject with Jon. They had what felt like an understanding and a peace in their family of three. And what would happen if she had a son? Would Naerys become a piece that could be easily move and lose her value as heir? Or would she be given the freedom to marry away from King’s Landing? Would her daughter even want to?

“I have not.”

“Sansa.” Her tone brought a smile to her lips. Arya sounded so very much like their mother when she was reprimanding. 

“I can be happy with only Naerys.”

“But you would be happier with more. You forget that I know you, Sansa. I’ve known you since I was born. You’ve always wanted a large family.”

“I do not have to have one to be happy.”

“Maybe so, but you would probably have more joy in finding pleasure with someone or thing other than your fingers.”

“Arya!” Her face was no doubt as red as her hair. 

“I’m only saying.” Her sister shrugged. “You love him.”

Sansa sighed. “Is it so wrong that I do?”

“No,” Arya shook her head. “I simply wish he deserved you.”

“He loves our daughter for being her, if anything, that is more than I can ask of any man in this place. Jon is Jon. I trust him. He’ll keep me and Naerys safe.”

—

Arya finally took pity on Naerys’ toes and took over helping her son master at least a few dances. Sansa watched on and smiled at her sister and nephew, imagining what it might be like to have a son of her own. She loved her daughter, but sometimes Sansa wished she had a brother or a sister for companionship. Sansa missed her own brothers and was glad to have Arya as often as she was able. 

“My family should be coming soon,” Princess Elia said with a smile as she stood by Sansa’s side. “My grandnephew, Daemonc and then Rhaenys and Little Elia will be in King’s Landing before long.”

“I do not think  _ Little  _ Elia is all that little anymore.”

The princess laughed. “No, I suppose she is not. But all the young ones are little to me. Even my own children will always be children to me, no matter how old I get.”

“You are not  _ that  _ old, Elia.”

The woman smiled. “Flatterer.”

Sansa smiled and looked out amongst the dancers. Jaehaerys had managed to force another dance on Naerys and Sansa could feel her smile freeze on her lips. 

Elia followed her gaze. “He’s too much like his father and grandfather,” she said. 

“The king wishes for Naerys to marry him.”

“I have heard rumors, but I had hoped they weren’t true.”

“Do you think the king could be dissuaded?”

Elia sighed. “He has been locking himself in the library recently, going over old scrolls in Valeryon that are nothing but gibberish in truth.”

“Prophecies.”

“Yes.”

“Words are wind, even if they are written on paper.”

“He wishes to find meaning when there is none. The Targaryens have been on a decline for a good century. I fear he may try to concolidate the family’s power once more.”

“The realm barely tolerate the dragons now. Even before the rebellion, people felt uneasy.”

Elia hummed in agreement. “I will try to dissuade him. Jaehaerys is not the second coming of Aegon the Conqueror.”

“No one should wish to be.”

“No. But I fear that he finds it to be fate that each of his children have given him a grandchild like Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys.”

“You think he will try to force a marriage between Jaehaerys, Elia, and Naerys?”

“He is not so foolish as to think anyone in the Seven Kingdoms would tolerate a three way marriage, but he may wish to make it partial.”

“Naerys should not marry Jaehaerys.”

“She should not.” Elia paused. “Arianne has told me she has encouraged her son to think of Naerys as a prospect for a wife. He will have a test for her to see if he would even attempt the thought, but he will think on it if she passes.”

“A Dornishman for a husband would be preferable. It would mend the rift between the family and the Martells as well as allow a man who would not be bothered by a woman in power to stand by Naerys’ side.”

“Will Naerys know of the test.”

“No.”

“Do you think she will pass it?”

“I have no doubt.”

—

Sansa watched as her daughter and husband danced. He held her close and spoke to her gently and his daughter smiled up to him. She said something to him and Jon threw his head back and laughed. Her husband did not care for dancing, but he seemed to love dancing with his daughter and being, even in a brief moment, a part of the things she finds joy in. 

It was in moments like this that she thought of her father. She could remember her father twirling around the great hall of Winterfell on the rare occasions he had been able to bring a minstrel to their home. She missed those days of innocence. She prayed to the old gods and the new that her daughter retained that innocence, that light that Sansa remembers having herself at that age. Jon was a good husband, but she knew not all men were Jon or Viserys or her brothers. 

Sansa prayed that her daughter would find someone who was worthy of her. Someone brave, gentle, and strong. 

Her husband had the Velaryon features but his coloring was of the North. He was an honorable man. Whatever happened, she knew she could trust her husband to look after their daughter, to put her first. Sansa loved her father, but wished he had fought a little harder for her as Jon seemed to wish to for Naerys. 

She did not know what was to come next, but she would live by her father’s words. 

_ When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon’s chapter is next (where he WILL talk to Rhaegar) and a new POV will be added after him. Guess who it will be!
> 
> What did you think of Sansa and Jon’s moment?  
> What did you think of her conversation with Arya and then Elia?  
> Rhaegar messing with prophecies? Aegon and his sister wives? What shall happen next?  
> The cute father daughter moment seen of Jon and Naerys? Shall I begin the next chapter with them dancing? I personally love writing dad!Jon and mom!Sansa. 
> 
> I was told adding actual dragons would be interesting. Do you think I should add them? It so, how?


	11. Jon II

Jon twirled his daughter across the dance floor. Naerys was laughing as he brought her back into his arms. She had grown up so fast. He had missed so many days being away from her, but after his next visit to the Vale, he would be done. He would tell his father that he would not be sent out again unless  _ absolutely  _ necessary. 

At first it had just been easier to be away, it was cowardice on his part, he knew it. Court life had never been something he felt comfortable with. It was why he had let his father order him about the realm so he might see what was going on in their kingdoms. He liked being amongst the people and listening to their opinions. Listening to what he as a prince might do for them. But when he got married and became the crown prince, he had thought things would change, that Aegon would be sent out to do what Jon had done. But that was not the case. His father kept sending him out and he had barely been able to stay for his first year of marriage to Sansa and for the first year they had Naerys. He had missed so much of his daughter’s younger years, riding in and out of the capital, always trying and hoping to return for his wife and daughter’s namedays so that he might spend those precious moments with them. He could still remember the first time his daughter did not cry upon his leaving. He remembered her standing at the gates, Sansa’s hands on her shoulder. Her little girl, who was only seven at the time, smiled and waved to him on his horse. She had grown used to it and Jon hated that she had. 

His trip to the Vale would be his last time traveling as he used to. Jon refused to miss another moment of his daughter growing up. 

It felt as though it were only yesterday when she would stand on his feet as they danced and he would have to hold his hands lower so that she might have something besides his tunic to hold onto. He remembered dancing with her when she was three name days old. He carried her on his hip and twirled them around the nursery, humming some tune he had heard in the Westerlands. Naerys had giggled when he brushed his chin along her cheek and pulled on his whiskers as he took her around the room, dipping her occasionally to smother her cheek in kisses before swinging them both up to the sound of her excited shrieks. 

“Naerys.” She looked up at him with eyes like her mother’s, although he could see touches of grey in the blue. “I’m going to speak to your grandfather. You won’t marry anyone unless you wish to.”

His daughter looked at him in surprise before smiling. She let herself lean against his front as they continued to dance. “Thank you, Father.”

—

“Sansa...” Her name was like honey on his tongue. He did not deserve such sweetness there when he said her name. However, this was no time for  _ my ladies _ . This was a moment they must stand as one. 

His wife looked up at him from their shared desk. Although she was usually the one who used the old thing, he used it on the occasions he was in King’s Landing. 

“I’m… I requested that I speak to my father and mother in their solar. I… I plan on rejecting the plan of the betrothal and marriage to Jaehaerys.” Jon looked down and straightened out his black tunic. “I would like you to come with me. I wish to show my parents that we are united in this.”

Sansa blinked up at him and her shocked expression melted into a small smile. “Of course.” She stood and walked around the desk until she was at his side. He offered her his arm and she took it. “Will they be expecting me?”

“No,” he admitted. “However, I hope the element of surprise will get them to listen.”

She huffed out a laugh before squeezing his arm. They made their way to his parents’ solar. His heart was thundering in his chest as they made their way to the room. His mother would be on their side, he was  _ almost  _ certain of it. For what little his mother seemed to care for Naerys, forcing her granddaughter into duals she wasn’t ready for, marriage was a different matter. His mother would see reason in this even if she wasn’t on their side at first. 

Jon knocked on his parents’ door. “It’s Jon.”

“Enter,” his father’s voice came. 

Jon let go of his wife’s arm and opened the door to let her step in first. He followed in after her and closed the door behind him. His parents rarely spent any time in their solar. It was only really used to break their fast, however this was the middle of the day and Jon had asked them to be there instead of requesting they come to his own solar. It was better to let them feel some ease. 

“Ah,” his father said as he noted Sansa. “I was unaware you would be joining us, my dear.” He pulled another seat out for Sansa to sit in. The king motioned towards it. “Please.”

Sansa and Jon sat down in the chairs offered them. 

“So,” his mother began. “What is it you wanted to discuss?”

“Two things, really,” Jon admitted. “First of all, after my next trip to the Vale, I’m asking that you allow me to stay in the capital permanently.”

His father looked surprised. Sansa was looking at him too, her gaze snapping to him. “What’s brought this on, Jon?”

“I’m tired of traveling when my time would be better spent with my family, where  _ people _ do not make plans for my family when I am not around.” He stared at his father. “This leads me to the second reason I am here and the reason Sansa is with me as well.” He paused, taking his wife’s hand in his and squeezing it. She squeezed back. “ _ We _ do not want Naerys to be betrothed to Jaehaerys. Unless my daughter tells me otherwise, I will not condone this plan.”

His mother’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Betrothal?” She turned to the king. “What is he speaking of?”

“He has plans to betroth Naerys to Jaehaerys, even though my daughter has stated that she would be against such a union,” Sansa said, calmly, squeezing Jon’s hand tightly. He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand, offering as much comfort as he can. 

“And when were you going to tell me this?” Jon’s mother demanded of the king. 

“It was nothing to concern yourself with,” the king said firmly. 

“ _ Nothing to _ —She’s my granddaughter! When were you going to tell me that you planned to have her marry Aegon’s son? The son of the son  _ you  _ had taken from the line of succession?”

“We must show the Targaryens are united. A marriage between Naerys and Jaehaerys will show this.”

“If you wished for Aegon to have the throne you should have kept him as your heir!”

“We were almost at war!” Jon’s father stood, his violet eyes almost black. “I had to do something! And now, with Naerys and Jaehaerys marrying, the rift can be healed and we can move on and let the Targaryens be as they always were, the best of Westeros.”

“My daughter should not pay the price for her uncle’s actions,” Jon said, his hand remaining in Sansa’s possession. “Naerys is to be queen in her own right one day. If she were to marry Jaehaerys, are you truly foolish enough to believe that Jaehaerys would be content with being the queen’s consort? Do you believe the Tyrells would be content with that?”

“He will accept—”

“I love Jaehaerys because he is my nephew, but I will not stand for him to be my daughter’s husband, unless she  _ wishes _ it. He will not stand to only be Naerys’ consort. He will want to be  _ king _ .”

“Your grace,” Sansa said, her tone even, obviously trying to cool the mounting tension. “Naerys has expressed that she does not wish to marry Jaehaerys and, as a future queen in her own right, she should marry someone she can trust who would put her and her children and the kingdom first, before his own personal agendas. She should marry a Dornishman or a Northman or anyone who would view her as his equal, or even better.” She squeezed Jon’s hand again. “She deserves someone who would  _ love  _ her. Besides, even you cannot deny the rumors of Jaehaerys’...  _ conquests _ .”

The king returned to his seat. “The Targaryens have married amongst themselves for generations. It’s what the people expect. It’s what the people want.”

“ _ Want _ ?” Jon huffed a hard laugh. “They have no love for us, Father. How many people died for me to be born? How many people burned and bled for me to draw breath? If you marry Naerys to Jaehaerys, you would be saying the ways of the Mad King were correct. The Targaryens were almost destroyed because of my birth. Princess Elia and my siblings were almost murdered. Viserys and Dany were almost driven out of Westeros.  _ You  _ almost died. Mother almost died. This was how the Mad King left our family. We cannot go back to  _ his  _ way of things.”

“Jon, I know you think you understand—”

“ _ I _ am the one spending my time  _ listening  _ to the people, Father. You might think that because you go out and play your melancholy songs upon your harp that you connect with them, but you are not  _ listening _ . People have little love for Aegon, for what he did to my wife. They hold little love for the Tyrells for almost sending us to war  _ again _ because neither Aegon or Margaery would not do their  _ duty. _ ” They followed your example, Jon thought but did not say. “You made me your heir as punishment to Aegon to appease the other houses, especially my wife’s family. But by forcing a union between my daughter and Aegon’s son, what was the point?”

“Jon.”

“If you would force such a betrothal, I will take my wife and daughter North and you shall never see us again.”

He let that sink in. He had always known his father was and could be very selfish. Jon just had not believed his selfishness would carry on to his daughter. 

“Naerys will not marry Jaehaerys,” Jon’s mother said. 

“Lyanna—” his father tried to interrupt. 

“No. My niece and Jon are right. It would not  _ endear  _ us to the people. And Sansa has spoken true about the rumors of Jaehaerys’ wandering eyes and  _ hand.  _ I will not have my granddaughter marry a boy like Robert Baratheon.  _ We _ married for love, Rhaegar. Why can’t Naerys?”

Rhaegar stood. “I have a meeting I must attend.”

He left quickly as though a ghost were on his heels. The three that remained were quiet for a moment. 

“I’ll speak to him,” Jon’s mother said. “I’ll make him see reason.”

The conversation ended with Sansa still holding on tightly to Jon’s hand. 

—

“So I hear you are against the betrothal,” Aegon said, coming up to him in the practice yard. “Is my son not good enough for your wolfish sensibilities?”

“If you had a daughter you would understand that no one would ever be good enough,” Jon replied, trying not to insult his brother. “But yes, I am against the betrothal.”

“And why’s that?” Aegon readied his practice sword against Jon’s. “My son would make a great king.”

“He would not be king, though,” Jon countered, stepping away from his brother and readying to duel. “He would be the queen’s consort.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it’s not.”

Aegon huffed a laugh. “Are you sure that you are not angry that your wife paid attention to only me when she first arrived in the capital?”

Jon brought his sword down against Aegon’s with a little more force than necessary. “You two were engaged. It was to be expected. And it is besides the point. Jaehaerys won’t marry my daughter.”

“You trained him yourself, you know the kind of man he is.” Aegon shoves Jon away with the flat of his sword. 

“I know what kind of  _ swordsman _ he is. I also know what sort of man he is  _ becoming _ . I will not have my daughter marry a man who sees her as a way to Father’s crown.”

“It should have been mine and Jaehaerys’ anyway. It is what is deserved.”

Jon swung his sword and knocked Aegon’s from his hand. “And that is why I do not think your son deserves my daughter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized Aegon hadn’t technically shown up yet so I felt like he should. 
> 
> What did you guys think of the dancing flashbacks of dad!Jon and little Naerys?  
> Did you guys like the confrontation between Jon, Sansa, Lyanna, and Rhaegar?  
> What did you think of the convo with Rhaegar?
> 
> Dany gets a POV next. Gosh it will be hard. I’ve never written from her POV before. What do you guys expect will happen?


	12. Daenerys I

When Daenerys was a girl, she had told Rhaegar that she would marry him one day. He had merely laughed and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and said that he already had a wife, but, one day, she would find a man she wanted to marry and that man would be the luckiest in all of Westeros. Her affection soon turned to Jon and Aegon who treated her as their little princess. She might have liked Viserys, perhaps even married him had their father not been murdered, but he and Rhaenys were always so distant with everyone but Princess Elia. Her brother always had a haunted look which she could never understand. What was there to be haunted about? There were no ghosts in the Red Keep. 

Soon, Daenerys lost interest in Aegon and put her focus on Jon. 

Her nephew was quiet and kind and gentle. He indulged Daenerys in her games and would play her shining prince when she wanted him to, which was rarely, or the dastardly villain she was to defeat. He was the man she wanted to marry. Once she was ready to have a husband, once she had her fill of everything else, she would tell her brother that she would marry Jon. 

When she learned that she could not carry a child to term, she had mourned the children she would never have. Jon had held her tightly and comforted her in the tender way he always had when they were children and told her it was going to be okay. 

When Sansa Stark and her sister came to King’s Landing, Daenerys thought little of her. She was like Princess Elia. She seemed weak and Daenerys wasn’t surprised at all when her silver-haired nephew found pleasure in another woman’s bed, a woman with more liveliness than the Northern girl had. What had shocked her was her brother then forced the eldest Stark girl onto Jon. Although he had not asked for it, Daenerys had spoken to her brother on Jon’s behalf, but Rhaegar would not budge. 

Then, Jon was married and Daenerys felt her heart break into a million little pieces. 

—

“I honestly don’t understand why Jon and Sansa don’t approve of a betrothal between Naerys and Jaehaerys. She’s a sweet girl with good ideas, but she needs a man of action to stand behind her while she works on her projects.”

Daenerys listened as Margaery complained during their shared lunch in the gardens. The two preferred to eat together rather than with Sansa and Princess Elia’s little _sewing circle._ Daenerys had much better things to be doing than dealing with the minuscule things Sansa did. 

“In another life they would have been siblings,” Daenerys said. “My brother would have had them marry anyway.”

Margaery huffed. “I just wished Sansa would see the _logic_ behind such a match. Jaehaerys can handle everything and Naerys can be free to do whatever her little brain comes up with.”

“Sansa knows nothing of the ways of the world and Jon is too kind to go against her when it comes to their daughter,” Daenerys sighed. 

Jon had been so busy the past few years that he hadn’t been able to make time for her. Often he simply came to check on his daughter and visit with Sansa before he was made to leave again. She rarely had a full conversation with him at all. “I’m sure I can make Jon see sense,” Daenerys said. “Naerys is a sweet girl and will no doubt come around to Jaehaerys’ advances, should he actively pursue her.”

Margaery nodded. “He truly is a charming young man. It isn’t as though Naerys has any suitors lining at the gate. I believe if he just charms her, even a little, she’ll see sense herself.”

“I would advise him to give a little less attention to Joanna,” Daenerys added. “She’s a sweet girl as well, however, she is a Lannister by blood. I doubt she has any good influence on him. I can’t imagine the stories she _might_ be whispering into Naerys’ ear.”

Margaery’s lips formed a frown. “Yes. The two have been close since she came to foster in King’s Landing. I will remind Jaehaerys that it is in his best interest to focus solely on his cousin. My son was always meant to be king.”

Daenerys smiled. It was time for a different topic. “Rhaenys is going to return soon,” she said. “I’m quite excited to see her again.”

—

Daenerys watched from the balcony as Naerys practiced with her _dancing_ instructor. The girl’s aunt Arya was with her, helping with her arm positions with the Bravossi swordsman. It was graceful, and Daenerys could see how Jon had been able to convince his daughter to try the fighting style. 

Daenerys doubted that the girl could survive on her own as queen. She needed someone strong who would make up for her weaknesses. Someone like Jaehaerys. Her great-nephew was like Rhaegar. He walked amongst the people and pulled at their hearts with his songs. Naerys had learned too many lessons from her mother and Elia to truly be a queen. She was a politician. Not a queen. 

If Naerys had been Daenerys’ daughter, she wouldn’t have been so soft. She would have been strong enough to rule without a man. Daenerys could almost picture it. She had ever since she first got to hold the little girl. If she had favored her father more, perhaps Daenerys could have settled and pretended with that. However, with the girl taking after her mother, Daenerys could not help but imagine the girl having silver hair and violet eyes with touches of grey in them. Her daughter would have been strong and independent and would have enjoyed the sword and would have been a true queen in her own right. She would have done what queens do, she would have ruled. 

However, the gods had given Jon to a woman who could never be his equal and a daughter whom would never be able to truly stand on her own. Even so, Jon had names his daughter after her. Of course he was too honorable to say so. But, out of all the Targaryen names, he had chosen Naerys. It meant something. 

Daenerys watched as the girl continued with her water dancing lesson. She looked graceful, but Daenerys doubted that the girl would be of any use in a fight, not matter how much her fighting tutors might praise her. The Targaryen woman sighed, if only the gods were just, Naerys would have been better if Daenerys had been her mother. 

—

“She will not marry Jaehaerys,” Jon said sternly when Daenerys came to his solar. She came knowing Sansa would be our with her _sewing circle._

“It’s a good match, Jon. Surely you can see that.”

“No, I don’t see that. He would not make a good _consort_ or husband, Dany. Surely _you_ can see that. His dalliances with other women and his disregard for my daughters place in the line of succession, in which he has no place in.” Jon put down his quill. It was bent out of shape and Daenerys could only guess that he had almost snapped it. “My daughter needs a husband that supports her, not a husband who wishes to usurp her place.”

“Jon, with Jaehaerys as king, Naerys could focus all her time on those little projects of hers.”

“Those _little projects_ could possibly help feed the whole realm for a winter that is supposedly coming that will be the worst winter Westeros has ever seen. Those _little projects_ have helped thousands improve themselves in ways they had been unable to before. Those _little projects_ have improved trade greatly. Do not belittle the work my daughter has done for this realm, nor my wife for that matter.”

“I said nothing about Sansa.”

“It felt implied.”

Daenerys huffed. “Jon, you can’t seriously tell me that Naerys would be able to rule in her own right. It’s never happened in our family before, at least it never ended well when the occasion did occur.”

“My daughter is better prepared and unlike all the times before, she has the backing of over half the realm, as do my wife and I.” Jon stood. “Dany, I have already had this conversation with too many people. Unless Naerys tells me otherwise, she will not marry Jaehaerys.”

Daenerys sighed. “Then who _will_ Naerys marry? I don’t see anyone vying for her hand in marriage.”

“My daughter will marry who she wishes. But she’s just a child. She has time.”

“It feels as though she were born yesterday,” Daenerys said. “Now she’s almost sixteen. She won’t be a child for long, Jon.”

“Then, as an adult, she can make a decision for herself.”

“Sometimes we don’t always get what we want.”

Jon sighed, but said nothing. “I need to go check with Ser Arthur about the security for the upcoming delegation from Dorne. You can show yourself out, Dany.”

Daenerys frowned, but she supposed be did have work to do. Perhaps that was what was keeping Jon from her. “Alright. But you know I’m here if you ever need _anything._ ”

“I know, Dany.”

—

Daenerys could sense something shifting in the wind in the Red Keep. The disagreement about Naerys and Jaehaerys was the first major one since Aegon had married Margaery. She wondered how and when a compromise would be reached. 

Daenerys huffed. They were dragons. They did not reach compromises. They took what they wanted with fire and blood. It was their family words after all. 

It was logical to marry Naerys to Jaehaerys, not only would it make the family whole again, but it would right all the wrongs made to Daenerys. 

If she had just been born earlier, she might have married Rhaegar. Princess Elia would have been unnecessary and, while Rhaegar might have been tempted by Lyanna, he would have remained faithful to Daenerys. She should have been married to Jon. If a girl of Northern blood was to marry a man with Targaryen looks, it would be justice for what might have been. Jaehaerys looked up to Daenerys in a way. She was the aunt that Rhaenys refused to be. Once he was able to secure Naerys’ affections, he would be able to bring the girl to Daenerys’ side.

She could be a _true_ mother to Naerys. A better one than Sansa had ever been. She could mold the girl into a better person. 

Then, Jon would see that Sansa was unnecessary. He could put aside his wife and marry Daenerys. For they were dragons and dragons did not care for the opinion of sheep cloaked in the fur of wolves. They did not care for fish or vipers or stags or falcons either. 

Yes. If Naerys married Jaehaerys, all the wrongs the gods had given Daenerys would be made right. She would have a daughter and son both who would care for her more than their own mothers and she would have Jon. Most importantly Jon. 

She had taken lovers before, it was within her right as a woman who could bare no children. But none of her lovers had satisfied her, often because their kisses had often tasted of duty. But what did she care. The husky way they would whisper _Dany_ let her imagine it was Jon moving above or beneath her. She imagined that Jon would be a wonderful lover, that he would be gentle as he often appeared in public, but Daenerys did not doubt that she would bring out the dragon in him. She knew she would awaken the man he was supposed to be if he were not tied down by such a weak woman as Sansa. 

That night, Daenerys brought herself to pleasure with her fingers, Jon’s name against her lips as she imagined him calling her his queen, assuring her that Sansa had never meant anything to him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was REALLY hard to write. I almost wanted to just skip it completely, but I needed to set up Dany’s POV for other parts in the story. This one was just really hard because I had to set up everything. 
> 
> Also, Jon did NOT name Naerys. He actually suggested Northern names or Southron names from other houses (like Minisa or Jenny). Sansa was the one to name her Naerys since she wanted her daughter to fit better amongst her relatives and Sansa loved the story of Naerys and her dragonknight as a child. 
> 
> So, what did you guys think of Dany’s POV?  
> What are your thoughts on Margaery?  
> What do you think about Dany’s unhealthy thoughts about becoming Naerys’ “mother”?  
> What do you guys think of Jon in this POV?  
> What do you guys think of Dany’s “plan”?  
> Let me know and feel free to shoot me an ask on tumblr if you don’t feel comfortable commenting on this!
> 
> Naerys will be having a POV next! Enter the sassy Elia Sans and Naerys will meet a Dornishman you’ve already been introduced to! 😘


	13. Naerys III

The sun was warm against Naerys’ back. It felt as though arms were wrapped protectively around her. She closed her eyes and basked in the warm. Love. That’s what it felt like. Love, pure as the sun shining down upon her. 

She opened her eyes and found a white wolf sitting before her at a slight distance. It’s red eyes gleamed in the light. It seemed neither threatened or bothered by her presence. Naerys could almost say it looked intrigued.

She stood and reached for the wolf. It looked… familiar. 

Yes. It was the same one from her dream of fire and ice. 

Suddenly, the air few cold and biting and the sun, while still shining felt bloomed from her, it’s warmth almost forbidden for her. The wolf howled mournfully and suddenly the wind began to join too. A piercing screech rang through the air and Naerys’ heart dropped like a stone. 

A dragon as white as ivory and with eyes like violets roared from above her. The beast descended as quick as lightning and landed before her. It’s breath was hot and blistering, curling around her until it was almost hard to breath. It was hungry. It’s eyes were dark with a hunger Naerys could not name. 

“Dragon or wolf!” A raven cried. “Wolf or dragon!”

Tears began to roll down her cheeks as the dragon drew near.

The sun! Where was the sun?

Naerys shot up from her bed, breathing heavily. She looked around and saw that night was still upon the land. With a sigh, she let herself fall back onto her bed and tried to sleep, hoping her dream was of a sunny spring. 

—

“Eli!” Naerys embraced her cousin tightly almost as soon as the pleasantries of the Dornish entry was finished. 

Elia Sand laughed. “Hello, to you too, Naer. I’m fine, by the way. Riding in the carriage was a bore, thanks for asking.”

Naerys rolled her eyes. “I _was_ going to ask how you were, _Elia_.”

“Of course you were.” She cupped Naery’s face in her hands. Elia was two years older than she was, but Elia acted as though she were five years older. “Have you been eating some weird Northern dish. I swear by all the gods you are taller than when I last saw you.”

Naerys smiled. “Perhaps you Dornish women are just short.”

Elia snorted before pulling Naerys into a hug of her own. “I’ve missed you. You will not _believe_ what Grandfather said in his last letter. He wants me legitimized. _Ha_! Mother would ship us to Essos if he made me a Blackfyre. What else could he make me? Sandfyre? Now that’s just stupid. Oh~ Snakefyre! Even more ridiculous.”

Naerys rolled her eyes. “Sand sounds perfectly fine to me. I can’t imagine you as anything else.”

“I imagine _if_ I find someone to marry, I’ll take his name, but perhaps I shall have my own little order of Sand Snakes at my back and call.”

Naerys bit her lip to try and stop herself from grinning. Brandon was different because he was a boy, but Naerys missed her cousin’s free spirit. She was sometimes jealous of the freedom Elia seemed to exhibit, but knew that they were born as they were for a reason. 

“Oh, that’s right, I wish to introduce you to one of my _many_ Martell cousins.” She waved someone to come close to them. “This is Daemon, son of Princess Arianne.”

As Daemon approached, Naerys felt her heart stutter only slightly. He was… very handsome. His dark curly hair was cut short which only gave it a slight bounce. His eyes were a dark brown and he looked every inch like one of the heroes from the Dornish songs Princess Elia had sung to her when she was a child. 

Naerys gave a curtsy. “Prince Daemon.”

He bowed slightly. “Princess.” He glanced up at her and Naerys could see flecks of gold in his eyes. “Elia has told me a lot about you.”

She blushed. “Only listen to the bad things, regardless of how many or few there are,” she said softly. “I fear Eli always exaggerates my supposed accomplishments.”

His lips twitched into a smile, but said nothing. 

“He’s going to participate in the tourney, that is definitely not for your birthday.” Elia patted Naerys’ back and gave her a wink, which no doubt made Naerys as red as her hair. 

“I told Grandfather that I didn’t want a tournament, that something more for the people would be of better use of funds, but Grandfather said it was utter nonsense.” She glanced at Daemon. “Are you a knight then?”

“Yes,” he shrugged. “Although ‘prince’ is above ‘ser’ so rarely anyone calls me such.”

Naerys nodded. “Have you been to King’s Landing before?”

“No. I’ve never been out of Dorne, to be honest.”

Naerys’ eyes widened. “You are far north then.”

“My mother thought I needed to see the world a bit. Widen my horizons.”

“I’ve never been to Dorne,” Naerys admitted. “I’ve never really left King’s Landing. My father has tried to get my grandfather to at least let me go to Dragonstone, but he would rather I stay here.”

“He’s probably afraid that you’ll leave as Mother did,” Elia said. “She left for Dorne and rarely come back unless Grandmother calls to her.”

Naerys nodded and then glanced at Daemon, only to find him watching her. She quickly averted her gaze. What was wrong with her? She was the daughter of Jon and Sansa Targaryen, she shouldn’t blush so easily. Naerys sighed inwardly. She hadn’t been around men that weren’t related to her in a long time. The Kingsguard and other guards did not count. 

“Have you never been North, then, Princess?” Daemon asked. 

Naerys shook her head. “My Aunt Arya and my mother are the closest to the North I’ve ever been.” And her Uncle Brandon in her dreams, and the man and the white wolf as well. She thought the man handsome too, but dreams were not reality. 

“Perhaps you will make it to Dorne one day,” Daemon said kindly. 

Naerys smiled. “Perhaps.”

“Eli!” Lyarra came from the door and Naerys laughed. 

“Ly!” Elia quickly and embraced their friend. 

Daemon chuckled beside Naerys. She felt it rumble in her chest and for a moment she thought she might understand how hot Dorne was. 

—

“Would you walk with me, cousin?” 

Naerys forced a sweet smile upon her lips. “Where to, cousin?” She shared a knowing look with Elia, who did nothing to hide her displeasure. Naerys turned to Daemon. “I hope you enjoy your time in the capital, my prince.”

“I need to make sure my people are settled, so I doubt there will be much enjoyment until then.” He said this with a smile and Naerys found herself smiling back. 

“I will check on you later to make sure you have settled in.”

“Thank you, Princess.”

Naerys gave him a curtsy before Jaehaerys took her arm and led her away. Once they were far enough away, Naerys looked to her cousin. “What is it you want, Jaehaerys?”

“Your parents have argued against our marriage.”

Naerys blinked. “Is that supposed to be news? I am well aware that my parents are arguing against it _for my sake_. I am also aware that my grandmother is opposed to it as well.”

Her cousin worked his jaw and saw a vein throb ever so slightly along his temple. “It is destiny, Naerys.”

“Perhaps I would agree with you should the gods deign to tell me so, but as they have yet to I will continue to oppose such a union.”

“And who would you marry besides me?”

“I have no idea,” Naerys said plainly. “I am not even sixteen yet.”

“Think of our family.”

“I _am_ ,” Naerys said tersely, pulling her arm from him. “Our _family_ almost inbred itself into extinction and madness. I will not begin such a cycle again. I will not be your Rhaenys and I very much doubt Eli will be your Visenya.”

Jaehaerys grabbed her by the arm and shoved her against the wall. His face was mere inches from her own. His violet eyes were dark with anger and an emotion Naerys could not name. “You are _mine._ ”

Naerys kept her expression passive, hoping to not let him know how frightened she was in that moment. How she wished she carried the small dagger her aunt had gifted to her years ago. _Stick them with the pointy end_ , was the only fighting advice that Naerys knew besides her own wit.

“I am not, and never will be, yours.” She wretched her arm away from him and pushed him away. He stumbled back slightly in surprise and Naerys raised herself to her full height. “If you even touch me or crowd me like that again, I will not hesitate to tell my grandmother and yours.” She lifted her chin. “Now, unlike you, I have duties I will actually attend to.”

Naerys turned on her heels and left with all her dignity in tact and a swell of pride in her heart for not letting her cousin know how frightened she had been.

—

She was helping with the preparations for that night’s feast when found a small child crying in one of the less frequented hallways. He looked Dornish based off of his clothing. A son of a servant perhaps. Naerys came to him and knelt before him. 

“Are you alright, sweetling?” 

The boy sniffed and looked at her with doe brown eyes. He could be no older than three or four. The boy shook his head and reached out for her. Naerys opened her arms and he crawled into them, letting her pick him up as well. He smelled of Dornish spices. It reminded her of when her Aunt Rhaenys visited the capital when Naerys was a child and her aunt would carry her almost everywhere to give her mother a small respite. 

“Where’s your mother, little one?”

“No mama,” the boy whispered, his lips trembling. 

Naerys’ throat tightened. The poor dear. She stroked his curly hair tenderly. “What’s your name?”

“Mors Sand.”

Naerys smiled. “I’m Naerys. Where’s your father?”

“Don’t know.”

“Is he getting ready for the party?” Mors nodded. “Do you know your father’s name?” He shook his head. Naerys chuckled. “Alright, let’s go look for him, then.”

Naerys spent a good hour or two looking for Mors’ father while also dealing with the feast activities. She asked a few of the Dornish servants, but none of them seemed to know where the boy’s father was. Even so, she continued to look, talking to Mors gently whenever he became upset over a loud noise. He was truly a sweet child and babbled to her about seemingly random things, although most seemed to do with his father, telling her how his father was the best and his granny was the best and so forth. Naerys found herself quite charmed by the boy and hoped that his father wouldn’t mind her spoiling him a tiny bit. His expression when she let him sample the lemon cakes was the most precious thing Naerys had seen in a good long time and the sticky kiss he pressed to her cheek was utterly adorable. 

—

Mors began to yawn and Naerys began to worry about ever finding the boy’s father. It had been three hours since she had found him and was no closer to finding the man than she was then. Perhaps she might take him to her own rooms for a nap and stay with him while she sends out a guard and perhaps asks Lord Varys to make use of his little birds to find the boy’s father. 

“Da!” 

Mors wiggles out of Naerys’ arms and she set him down. She watched and looked up in shock when she watched the boy run straight into Daemon Martell’s arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehe! What do you think?
> 
> What do you think Naerys’ dream was about?  
> Does someone have a crush? And what do you guys think of Elia Sand?  
> What do you think of Mors? He didn’t do much, but what did you think?  
> What type of father do you think Daemon is?
> 
> Daemon gets a POV next!❤️


	14. Daemon I

The birth of his son and simultaneously been the best and worst moment of his life. It was the best because, for those precious few seconds, he had Mors in his arms and everything in the world was right. And then the maester informed him that Alayna had not made it. 

Olyvar had barely made it in time to hold Daemon up as his knees gave out from under him. Irri had taken Mors into her arms as Daemon screamed, tugging at his hair letting the sharp pain steal into his blood as the truth that the sun of his life was gone from this world. Taken by the same gods that had given her to him. He was barely a man himself, she barely a woman. She had such life in her that a life without her felt as though the blistering sun had grown cold and nothing in the world mattered anymore. 

Alayna was gone.

Alayna was gone. 

It was only when his son began to cry that he collected himself and took the babe into his arms and rocked him carefully. This child, their son was all he would have left of his Alayna. This was all the gods left of their love and Daemon would protect him at all costs. 

—

While he was not particularly thrilled over his mother trying to forge a marital alliance with the North, the Vale, and the Riverlands, he knew the merits of it. Almost everyone in Westeros was tired of the closed Targaryen rulership. Rumors of the king trying to set a marriage between two, possibly all three, of his grandchildren put most who know of those in the know on edge. 

From what he had heard, Naerys Targaryen was a pretty girl, barely a woman at all. She seemed to be kind and generous, but that could be for appearances only. He knew how his mother planned for him to test such things, but he did not care for it. 

“Oh,” Elia’s voice broke into his thoughts. He glanced up. “That’s right, I wish to introduce you to one of my _many_ Martell cousins.” She beckoned him forward with her hand and he began his approach. “This is Daemon, son of Princess Arianne.”

He assessed her as he approached. She was… pretty. Perhaps it wasn’t the best description but it was all he would give her at the moment. True beauty, his mother had always cautioned, was from within. Her long red hair was like the color of sand just as the sun began to melt into the horizon in the evening. Her eyes were large and innocent and the color of sapphires. However he could see touches of grey in them. She _was_ pretty, many would probably call her beautiful. However, many were not still mending a broken heart from lost loves. 

She curtsied. “Prince Daemon.” Her voice was deeper than he thought it might be. It was hushed and had a slight musical tone to it. 

He gave her a short bow. “Princess. Elia has told me a lot about you.”

He didn’t believe most of it. Elia had talked his ear off for most of the journey, going on and on about her cousin’s many talents and graces. If Mors had not been napping on his lap, Daemon would have ridden a horse for the whole way just to get out of Elia’s incessant talking. She meant well, but sometimes she would simply not stop talking. 

The princess blushed at his words. “I fear Eli always exaggerates my supposed accomplishments.”

Daemon failed to hold back a smile completely.

—

He had made it a game. 

Mors was to play hide and seek with him with the help of a red haired lady. They had played such a game once before. A woman had tried to worm her was into Daemon’s bed and she had failed this very test. The Martell prince would and could never marry a woman who did not treat his son, a Sand, with every ounce of love Alayna would have. 

Daemon watched from a distance as the princess picked up his son and talked to him tenderly. If she passed his son off to a servant, she would fail. If she left him with a Dornish servant, she would fail. So very many ways for her to fail. He followed them at a slight distance. The servants from Dorne knew not to reveal who Mors’ father was. It was not that they wished to hide it, but they did not want the boy in too much danger. King’s Landing was far from the safest place in Westeros. 

He watched as the princess carried Mors where she went occasionally sending servants off to finish the preparations for the evening’s feasts. She balanced Mors on her hip, letting him tug on her hair and her necklace and listening to him and responding to him as he babbled. He was surprised at how long she held him for. Surprised at how effortless she carried him while carrying out her duties. 

He could see Mors yawn and knew the game had to end. 

Daemon stepped from his hiding place. 

“Da!” His son wriggled from the princess’ grasp and ran to him. 

He knelt down as Mors rushed into his arms. Carefully, Daemon stood, hoisting the boy into a more comfortable position on his hip. He glanced at The Targaryen princess and found her staring at him, her eyes wide. 

Daemon walked closer to her. “Princess.”

She gave a curtsy. “Prince Daemon.” Her eyes shifted to Mors. 

“I see you have met my son”

She blinked and appeared to regain her composure. He didn’t hold it against her. Most might be shocked. Most were shocked at how young of a father he was. “He spoke very highly of you.”

“She nice, Da,” Mors said in a loud whisper. 

Daemon smiled at the blush that crept up the princess’ neck. However, her face remained masked. It was similar to the expression she had worn when Prince Jaehaerys had taken her from their earlier conversation. He wondered how often she found such a mask necessary. 

“I,” she said at last, “had been planning on taking him back to my rooms to nap while I sent someone to find you. I did not wish to leave him alone.”

“You could have left him with someone,” Daemon said carefully.

She frowned. “Sands might be treated differently here than they might in Dorne.”

That he could not deny. The mere fact that the king was so bent on legitimizing his eldest granddaughter was almost proof of that. 

“You don’t trust your servants?”

She froze for a moment before glancing at a drowsy Mors. “I trust _my_ servants.”

Ah. 

“I will settle him in my rooms, his septa is there to take care of him as he sleeps in case he needs anything.”

“How are your accommodations?” she asked. “If I had known about Mors, I would have prepared something better.”

Daemon shook his head. “It would be best he stay with me anyway. He’s never been outside of Dorne either.”

She needed and glanced down at the ground, seemingly trying to think of something else to say.

“Walk with me,” he offered. She looked up to him in slight confusion. He chuckled at watched as a blush spread across her cheeks. “To be honest, I have no idea how to get to my rooms from here.”

—

Once Daemon settled his son into bed, he offered his arm to the princess and she led him back to where the feast would take place. 

“Shall I have a plate sent to the septa and Mors?” she asked. 

“That would be appreciated.”

She smiled at him. It was a soft smile that almost seemed to melt onto her expression. It brightened her features and Daemon could tell it was genuine. She looked away and off down the hall. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said quietly. “Mors told me.”

Daemon felt his heart stutter slightly. “Childbirth was hard on her body. The maester said the strain was too much.”

She squeezed his arm gently. “I’m sure she’s proud of how you’ve raised her son. I think he might steal a few hearts when he’s older. I know he’s certainly has a strong chance of taking mine.”

Daemon chuckled again. “He takes after his mother in a lot of ways. His smile, his laugh. Even this little thing where he wrinkles his nose just before he laughs. It’s all Alayna.”

The princess smiled up at him. “Did Elia know her?”

“Yes. By all the gods they could never be left in the same room together. They once died my cousin Joffrey’s hair green.”

“Pft—” Naerys’ giggles turned into full laughter. She covered her mouth with her free hand to stop it from getting too loud, however Daemon could see a slight glisten of tears. “He visited Joanna soon after,” she gasped. “He wore a hat most of the trip but my cousin Jenny stole it and—oh gods that makes it even funnier!” Her laughter subsided but only a little. “He then tried to convince us it was the night of fashion in Dorne.” She touched the corner of her eyes with her sleeves. “Forgive me for such unladylike behavior,” she was still smiling and Daemon doubted that she wished for absolution. 

“There is nothing to forgive, Princess.”

“Do you know how long you will stay in King’s Landing?”

“A year or so, at least,” he said. “I will stay until Princess Rhaenys tells me otherwise. I believe I am here to keep Elia from _some_ trouble.l

Naerys smiled again. “A full time job, I am sure.”

“You would be correct.”

She giggled again and Daemon found he liked the sound. 

—

“May I cut in?”

The Targaryen prince glared at him, however Daemon’s focus remained on Naerys. She watched as Jaehaerys’ hand tightened around Naerys’. 

“That would be lovely, Prince Daemon,” Naerys said before she looked to her current partner. “We wouldn’t want to be rude to your cousin, would be Jaehaerys?”

The prince let go of her hand and bowed before heading back to one of the dining tables. 

Daemon took the princess’ hand in his as she placed her other on his shoulder. He could see the slight indentation of nails upon the back of her hand. “Are you alright?”

“If I had been unaware of your knight status, I would certainly believe you to be one now,” she said, ignoring his question, letting him lead them around the dance floor  

“Princess—”

“You know what my grandfather wishes?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know there are many who oppose?”

“Of course.”

“But there are those who want it to happen.”

“I’m aware.”

“I am my father’s heir. Unless my parents have a son, I will always be that. First and foremost. I have to keep the peace, for as long as possible. He has not hurt me.”

 _Yet._ The word was not uttered, but Daemon could feel it in his very bones. He has not hurt her _yet_. 

“My grandmother, my Tully grandmother, her house words are _family, duty, honor_ . My honor as a woman and a princess must always come last. My duty is to serve my people and put them before myself. My family must always be my center. I may not agree with them, but my heart _would_ break if I were to lose any of them, regardless of how it might happen. Perhaps I am soft for that, but there has been too much death in the past century. Can we not have _one_ generation of peace?”

Kindness was not a weakness. The world would be a cruel place if there was no kindness. 

“Perhaps it will be ours.”

She smiled up at him, squeezing his hand gently. “We pray that it will be for those who come after.”

—

That night, he held Mors in his arms and dreamed of spring. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter appeared!  
> When I initially came up with the concept of this story, Daemon did not exist. However, he’s quickly becoming one of my favorite characters!
> 
> What are your overall thoughts on him?  
> What did you guys think of his POV on first meeting Naerys?  
> Some of you guys were worried about him letting Mors alone for three hours, but he was always close by and would have stepped in if necessary.  
> What did you guys think of the change when he referred to her as “the princess” in the narration and then changed to “Naerys” when she laughed? Did you guys notice?  
> What did you think of the dance in the end and their conversation?
> 
> We get back to Aemon’s POV next!


	15. Aemon III

The heat of the truer south was unbearable. Aemon had begun to wear only his undershirt and trousers the further south they went. The rest of his men did the same. Although he had always been aware that the world was not always filled with ice, he had never really thought about it. He had never seen so much green either. It almost seemed unending. It almost felt unnatural. Screaming at him that he didn’t belong. 

The rest of the Free Folk that had come with Aemon we’re getting down to their thinnest clothes as well. None of them had ever experienced such heat. Little Sam often went around shirtless although Sam Tarly informed them all that they wouldn’t be allowed to do such things in King’s Landing. Torrhen thought they were all being ridiculous and told them so. 

“My mother’s homeland is hotter than this,” he told them. 

“Aye, that doesn’t make this place any less fucking hot,” Sam muttered. 

Ghost and his lady seemed to be enjoying this journey at least. The direwolves sprinted around their traveling party, occasionally bringing in fresh meat for Aemon and the others to feast on without having to do much hunting. Occasionally, Aemon would see a shift in the she-wolf’s countenance and he could tell that whoever she was bonded to was warging into the beast. She would look up to him, her head cocked. 

Aemon wondered who she was. 

On the rare occasions that they were resting for the night and  _ she  _ was there, Aemon would let his mind slip into Ghost’s and the two would prowl along the forest. Every once and a while she would rub her head along the fur of his neck and Aemon had to withhold a growl as he felt himself long for a human touch. 

His mate. 

He didn’t know who this person was, but he just knew they were his mate. He belonged to them in every sense of the word. 

Whenever he slipped out of Ghost’s skin he would find himself hard and wanting. He’d go off on his own to relieve himself from the painful lust that trilled through his body. He imagined the girl from his dreams. Hair of fire and eyes almost of ice. It was almost embarrassing how much his body seemed to want a person he had never met.

Sam was the only one who knew even a fraction of Aemon’s dreams. His friend simply patted him on the back. “I had those dreams once of Veena before I stole her.”

“And what made them stop?” Aemon asked. 

“I stole her.”

Aemon rolled his eyes. “This doesn’t help me considering I don’t even know the girl in my dreams.”

Sam shrugged. “Perhaps. But it’s what helped me. Although, I do dream of her now. Miss her as I do, and my little Mance, but this is for them that we’re doing this. You can find your woman once you finish all this. She’s a part of this world too.”

He had no time for such things. Sam was correct in saying there was little time for him to do much even if he did find the woman of his dreams, the one who made him lose all sense of humanity when he felt the shift in the she-wolf’s skin. 

He had no time. 

_ Aemon _ . The wind seemed to whisper the further south they went.  _ Aemon.  _

He wondered if his mate… if the one he might share a bond with was from the south. 

He wondered what he might do if he meets them. 

—

They reach Moat Cailin in the early hours of the day, yet not so much that they are not greeted when their party arrived. The lord of the castle, a Theon Greywolf, greeted Torrhen and his father Lord Robb with enthusiasm. Torrhen had told them the previous day that Lord Greywolf had been a ward of the Starks from a young age and had been given a keep of his own since he was not to inherit from his own family and had taken the name to account for his family, a seafaring people called Greyjoy and the Starks who had raised him. The man had rebuilt the keep from its apparent ruins, although Aemon could see ghosts of unfinished areas that were in too much disrepair. 

Lord Greywolf welcomed them into the keep and offered them a place of rest. “Any friend of the Starks is a friend of mine,” he had told them, his arm still around Robb Stark’s shoulder. “If my wife we’re not with child, I would no doubt ride south with you,” he laughed. “But I fear I might lose an appendage I rather like if I even gave the thought any more words than that.”

Lady Greywolf was surrounded by five children and seemed exhausted, but it did not stop her from smiling and pinching her husband’s cheek. The man laughed once more and kissed his wife on the top of her head. 

They were fed and offered baths and the Free Folk were given clothes that would be better acclimated to the weather further south. 

At dinner that night, Lord Greywolf listened to Aemon and Lord Robb carefully. His jovial expressions soon turned solemn. 

“Do you truly believe the Wall will fall?” he asked Aemon. He was holding a small toddler in his arms. Her black hair covered her face, but Aemon could see that the girl was dozing. 

“If anything, they will find a way over or through it,” Aemon said. “They are moving south for a reason.”

“What do they want?”

Aemon thought of the strange Lord Bran. What little word had been spoken. “I don’t know. My father says there is an old legend amongst my people that is rarely told anymore. I heard it once as a boy, but most of us believe it to be just stories. But, then again, the Others had once been stories to you as well.”

“Tell us,” Sam Tarly urged. 

Aemon looked at Little Sam and his friend nodded. “They say the Night King, the leader of the Others, was once a man, a man like any other. They say he fell in love with a princess but that her king and father would not allow such a thing unless he completed a task.” He paused trying to remember the story as his mother told him. “He was ordered to destroy the Children of the Forest. When his task was nearly complete, he returned, only to find the princess had married a prince and had a daughter of their own. Enraged by the supposed betrayal he went to the very people he sought to destroy and offered them himself as a way to fight against the men who still wished to hunt them down. They used their magic and he became the Night King.”

“My mother told me that he still seeks vengeance,” Little Sam added. “That he turned on the Children of the Forest and seeks the destruction of the people that took what he believes should have been his. He is looking for a Night Queen, one he believes should have been his.”

“That…disturbing,” Lord Greywolf muttered. 

Aemon nodded. “It’s just a story. Who knows.”

“Was there anything else?” Lord Robb asked. 

“That the woman he was to marry was called the bride of fire, but that was it.”

“I pray those rumors are untrue,” Lord Greywolf muttered. “A mindless enemy is far easier to deal with than a calculated one. For if they can think, then they can outsmart.”

“And if they can counteract an assault, then they can make one of their own as well and since they are already dead, that only makes it harder,” Aemon agreed, praying to whatever gods were listening that the kneeler king might listen to them.  


Lord Greywolf nodded. “Know that I will be with you when the time comes. This isn’t the North’s problem. It is a problem we all must face. If we can’t work together, then it’s the end of everything.”

—

“There are rules you  _ have  _ to follow when we reach the capital,” Lord Robb warned. “There is courtesy you must have when interacting with Southerners. One wrong step and you might insult the wrong person.”

Aemon rolled his eyes. They had gone over this so many times he could possibly repeat veering the southern lord was about to say in his sleep. “No stealing women, there are places to go if you need to fulfill that sort of appetite.”

Most of Aemon’s men already had wives and none of them were interested in endangering their people anyway. 

“Address people by their proper titles.”

Aemon thought titles were stupid but understood the kneelers apparently needed them. 

“Treat the royal family with respect and for the love of all the gods, do not antagonize them.”

“Does that go for you as well?” Sam Tarly asked. 

“I can tease my sisters and good brothers and their children, but they’re family.”

“Bathe regularly,” Torrhen added. 

The Free Folk glared at him. 

“What? It would help. No offense but people will get offended if you always smell like ten years worth of sweat.”

Aemon rolled his eyes. He sniffed himself carefully when no one was looking. He didn’t think he smelled  _ that  _ bad. 

—

_ Aemon.  _ Her voice whispered against his heart as he reached for her in the darkness.  _ Aemon.  _

He sensed another presence with them. Another man. He felt no threat, and yet, he knew that this man meant something. He meant the beginning. He meant the end. 

_ Aemon.  _

The sun shone brightly against white stone walls as the smell of salt burned his nose. 

_ Aemon.  _

The smell turned to that of burnt flesh and the scent began to sting as the city began to go up in flames. 

_ Aemon! _

A white dragon circled the skies and screamed into the air as fire began to rain down upon them, the sun blocked by the smoke and ash. 

_ Aemon! _

_ Mine!  _ The dragon seemed to roar.  _ Mine! _

A child was crying. A child was screaming for its mother. For its father. 

_ D–Aemon! _

He broke out into a run as the empty city echoed with screams of men, women, and children. The child was still crying. Crying for its parents. He ran and ran as the dragon continued its possessive roar, circling the skies as though the city itself was its prey. 

_ D–Aemon!  _ The voice screamed again as the crying grew louder. 

The keep was crumbling around him as he continued to search. 

_ D–Aemon! _

He came into a large, nearly empty room. The walls were a soft blue and grey with yellow drapes that let in the light. However, the walls were crumbling and whatever peace that had found itself in the room was gone. A wooden cradle stood alone at the center of the room and Aemon rushed for it, trying to protect what was theirs.

Not his. Hers. His. Theirs. Not his. 

A young child was curled around a direwolf pup. The child’s hair was as dark as raven feathers and her skin a soft tan. The girl looked up at him, her eyes large and as blue as a clear sky. 

Hers. 

_ D–Aemon! _

Aemon shot you from his pallet, startling Torrhen who had been on duty that hour. 

“You alright?” the young lord asked in concern. 

It took Aemon a moment to gather himself as he tried to keep hold of the end of his dream. The memory fading quickly into oblivion. 

“I…” What had even woken him up? “I’m fine.” He looked rough Torrhen. “I’ll take the watch now. You… you sleep.”

The young Stark narrowed his eyes but shrugged, letting Aemon take his post. As he kept watch, the free man tried to remember what his dream had even been of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... what did you guys think?
> 
> Will Naerys get to see a shirtless Aemon? How will her reaction be WHEN she does?  
> What did you guys think of Theon?  
> What did you guys think of the dream? What could it possibly mean?
> 
> Jaehaerys has a POV next!


	16. Jaehaerys I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is some sexual content in this chapter and it’s somewhat violent if you don’t like choking... yeah... sorry.

From the time he was a child, his parents always told him that he was meant to be king. 

“And as a king, you need a beautiful queen by your side,” his mother had told him. “Little Naerys is to be your queen, sweetling. Together you will rule the Seven Kingbdoms as they were meant to be.”

He had not understood it then, he and Naerys had been only children, afterall. However, his parents told him the same thing as the years went by. 

“Naerys will be your wife someday.”

“You were born to be a king.”

“Naerys will be your wife and have your children.”

“It’s your destiny.”

“Naerys will make such a pretty wife for you.”

“It’s your birthright.”

“She will be your queen and you can rule over her and Westeros together.”

“Naerys is fragile, treat her like glass. She’s too much like her mother.”

“Westeros deserves a true Targaryen king.”

“It’s the will of the gods. Why else would they give us a son and them a daughter?”

He hadn’t thought much of it. Naerys was his skinny younger cousin. She played maidens and monsters with him and the other children of the keep. She was pretty, he supposed, but not beautiful—he thought girls were more annoying than anything. 

She was just Naerys. His cousin he would marry someday. 

He had told her so, once when they were hiding from Ser Podrick in a game of hide-and-seek, and she had just giggled and said she was her baby dolls mother and he could be the father if he wanted.  _ They don’t do much _ . Which was true in his father’s case. He wasn’t sure about his Uncle Jon. His Uncle Jon was almost always busy. 

Yes, Naerys was to be his wife and he thought little of it. That was for when he was a grownup, and he was hardly a grownup.  

He thought nothing of it, really, until he was fourteen and she was thirteen. 

He had just returned from a year long trip to Dragonstone. His parents had thought it wise for him to see their family’s ancestral home. He thought little of the place. It was dreary and cold and lifeless. It was boring too, compared to King’s Landing and the Reach. He couldn’t wait to get back to the capital. 

When he had left, Naerys had been his slightly annoying cousin who preferred books to swords. When he returned, Naerys had become something different. 

Her hair had lost its childhood frazzle and was straight and braided into a Northern braid like her mother’s and the queen’s. Her eyes were no longer larger than her face, but were still as blue as a clear spring sky. She was wearing a floor length dress instead of one of her more childish dresses that when to the middle of her calf. She had begun to have curves and breasts. She looked like a princess from the songs. 

He smiled when he saw her and even kissed her cheek when they greeted one another. She smelled of lavender and honey. 

Gods he wanted her. The feeling only grew as they got older.

She was his. Always his. 

It was destiny, after all. 

—

Jaehaerys rammed his hips against hers twice more before he spilled, his hand tightening around her throat as he rutted through it. She clung to his wrist, keeping his hand upon her throat making him squeeze harder. When he was spent, he pulled out before hovering over her to collect his breath. When he had regained his composure, he slid off the bed and stood stood, stretching his arms over his head. 

“Remember to take moon tea today,” he said over his shoulder. 

“Of course, my prince,” the whore said. She was pretty, but not beautiful. Her hair was a dull copper instead of the fire red that made up Naerys’ long flowing locks. She had been good, but he could tell that she had faked most of it. He could tell when a girl wasn’t faking. Joanna sure didn’t. Her gasps and chokes were real. 

Jaehaerys pulled on his trousers and then his boots before pulling his shirt over his head. 

His cousin, Waymar Tyrell, was waiting for him out in the street. His cousin smirked at him. “I see you enjoyed yourself.”

“Not as much as you, I wager.”

Waymar gave him a mock gasp. “I am a kingsguard.”

“And you were the one who first brought me here.”

“Well, couldn’t let you embarrass yourself when you marry the little dragonfly, could I?”

Little dragonfly. It’s what most of the servants and guards called his Naerys. He wasn’t sure where the nickname even came from, none of their family called her that. Uncle Viserys called her little fish but that was it. The only connection Jaehaerys could think of was how she used to love her mother’s dragonfly necklace, a gift from her father when he traveled to the Westerlands. 

“Her parents are fighting the betrothal,” Jaehaerys told him as they went back to the Red Keep. 

Waymar snorted. “Whatever for? It makes sense. Mends the rift between us and the North for what your father did. Keep the power with the Targaryens.”

Jaehaerys shrugged. 

_ We could have been siblings, you and I _ . When Naerys has said it, it sent a thrill up his spine. Yes, they should have been siblings. Had they been brother and sister, Naerys would have always been his, she wouldn’t have had such silly thoughts about marrying someone else. Aunt Daenerys told him it was how the Targaryens were always meant to be. It was what they were made for. Like two halves of a whole. 

“Is Joanna still keeping your bed warm?”

“Not since Grandfather begun to speak earnestly for an engagement. She’s pouting. It’s why I’ve been coming here.”

“Yeah, I doubt the king would be pleased with your preferences. Doubt the little dragonfly would like them either.”

No, but he could imagine it. He could imagine Naerys’ pale throat violet with a bruise shaped like his hand. He could imagine her hips dotted with bruises where his fingers had been. He imagined being able to see them, he knew he had left bruises before when his control had slipped and she had driven him to it. He had heard her scream once when her horse had bolted and the sound had gone straight to his cock. He could imagine her begging for it. He could imagine her chest blue from bites and his lips as he took her from behind as though they were like her mother’s family crest. 

He could remember the look in her eyes when he had pushed her against the wall. He remembered her sweet breath quickening and her eyes widening. He could still remember the way her chest squeezed against the confines of her dress. How he had wanted to ruck up her skirts right there and take her hard until she was screaming his name so the Dornish prince that had smiled at her would know who she belonged to. 

But he hadn’t because he had too much respect for the princess who would be his wife. 

Naerys was a proper lady. She knew little of the ways of men and it wouldn’t be proper to inflict such things on her. Joanna and the whores in King’s Landing could take it. No, Jaehaerys would treat her like glass. His little dragonfly. His little wife. 

“Get your mind out of the gutter before we get back. Your mother will have my head if she knew where I’ve been taking you.”

“My father just might re-knight you.” Jaehaerys smirked. 

Waymar just threw his head back and laughed. 

—

Jaehaerys disliked the Dornish prince greatly. The man was three years older than him and a talented swordsman. Even his Uncle Jon had been impressed. And then there was the fact that Naerys spent so much time on the man’s arm. The way she giggled for him made Jaehaerys’ blood boil. 

His. She belonged to  _ him.  _ Not to some man who hadn’t been smart enough to have his whore drink moon tea. 

“Don’t they look like a lovely couple?” Joanna asked from her place on his arm during the small garden party his grandmother was throwing as a little get together before the coming tournament. “The Dornish are excellent lovers, after all. I’m sure he could make her  _ very  _ happy.”

“Shut up,” he seethed, his anger rising as he watched Naerys get on her toes to whisper something into Daemon’s ear. The man laughed and answered something back to her and her face broke out into one of her brilliant smiles. 

“And what will you do if I  _ don’t _ ?”

Jaehaerys growled again and pulled his arm away from Joanna’s hold. He marched over to Naerys and the Dornish bastard and offered his dragonfly his hand. “Dance with me, cousin.” She glanced down at his hand and Jaehaerys watched as Daemon squeezed her arm gently. “Naerys.”

She slowly took his hand, letting her other one slip from the Dornish prince’s hold. Jaehaerys let his lips curl into a smile as he led her to the rest of the dancers in the garden. She did not look at him directly as they danced and merely kept her gaze to his collarbone. He forced her hips closer with his. How he wanted to rut into her, claim her as his own, but he resisted, instead pressing his nose closer to the crown of her head and sniffed. 

He sneered as he scented Dornish spices mixed with the lavender and honey. 

His grip on her hip tightened, his fingers digging into her skin so hard that he knew she would have bruises. Marks that he wished she would bare to show the world that she  _ belonged  _ to him. 

“I hear your grandmother and our grandfather have come to a disagreement about us,” he said, tilting his lips toward her ear. His cock twitched as he felt her shudder. “You say you care for this family, but look how much fighti. You are causing.”

“Marry Joanna,” Naerys said quietly, her lips spread into a smile and Jaehaerys could see the expression aimed at her father. “Marry Joanna and be happy.”

“I don’t  _ want  _ Joanna.”

She didn’t reply as he twirled her in his arms. 

“Is that what it will take?” he asked. “Sending her back to Dorne?” 

“Do you care so little for women that you could send them away so easily?”

Jaehaerys’ eye twitched. How could she not understand that it was for her. She was to be his wife, he would not do as he wished with her because it was his duty to be courteous. He  _ needed  _ Joanna and the whores so that he might not hurt her when their time came, that he might be the perfect prince for her. He might be gentle. 

“You would be my queen.”

She looked up at him, her eyes like ice. “I would be your queen regardless.” Her jaw locked as his fingers began to dig into her waist again. “I will not marry you, Jaehaerys.”

“And who would you marry?” he seethed. “That Dornish prince?” 

Color stained her porcelain cheeks before she lifted her chin. “Someone who is not you.”

—

He let himself into Joanna’s room that night.

“She doesn’t want you,” she told him, her golden hair loose and ready to be pulled. “You don’t need her to be king. Let her fuck our cousin all she wants, it doesn’t—”

Jaehaerys felt such satisfaction when his hand connected with her cheek. The force sent her back onto her bed. She looked up at him with pricks of tears in her eyes. She was smirking at him. 

Joanna sat up and looked at him, her skin flushed and her eyes blown wide. “I can give you what you want. I can give you everything. What can Naerys give you that I can’t?”

“You want to give me what I  _ want _ ?” 

“ _ Yes _ ,” she breathed, leaning back onto her bed as he crawled over her, pulling her shift up around her waist as he went. 

He got onto his knees and opened his trousers as he put his free hand around her throat. “What do you know of my desires?” he asked once he was free. His cock had been hard since he had held Naerys in his arms. Since she had looked at him as though she hated him. How sweet her heat would be once he was allowed to sink himself into her. “What do you know of my wants?”

He thrust into her with no warning and she cried out. Jaehaerys tightened his hand around her throat so her cries were more subdued. He closed her eyes and imagined this was Naerys. Imagined that he was taking her so hard that she might shatter around him. He imagined forcing the Dornish prince to serve as witness, making her cry out Jaehaerys’ name as he made her his over and over. 

His. 

Naerys was his. 

He would burn everything down if it meant she could be his. 

It was their destiny. 

She was born to be his. 

He was born to be king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... What did you guys think of Jaehaerys? As I was writing I started thinking about how interesting it would have been to have a Joffrey POV. Every POV character was aware of the fact that Joff wasn’t Robert’s son. I think it would have been super interesting to see his POV on things. Just a random thought.
> 
> What do you think of the things Margaery and Aegon told Jaehaerys as he grew up?  
> What do you think of his excursions to the brothels and his “preferences”?  
> What do you think of his dance and conversation with Naerys?  
> What do you think of that final scene with Joanna?
> 
> Next chapter is another Daemon chapter and will be about the tournament that’s for Naerys’ sixteenth birthday.
> 
> (Also, for anyone who is wondering, Daemon is 19, he was 15 when he and Alayna had Mors.)


	17. Daemon II

Daemon watched from the solar as the princess played with Mors in one of Princess Elia’s gardens. He was almost jealous of how much the princess seemed to favor the boy over him. She chased the boy around, slowing ever so slightly as to not catch up to him and then swooping down to pick him up and sprinkle his face with kisses. Daemon smiled as he watched. 

“She’s a good girl.” He turned to look at his cousin Rhaenys. “She’d make a good mother and wife.”

“And queen,” Daemon added, looking back to Naerys and Mors. She was the embodiment of Mother and Maid. She had this caring air about her, a genuine care for others that wasn’t held together by a need for adoration like the king or Lady Margaery. 

“Does that bother you?”

“Does what bother me?”

“That she would be queen?”

“No. She was raised by two people who genuinely care for Westeros. She thinks of others before herself as well.” He had noticed a bruise on her arm and it had taken everything in Daemon not to storm over to the bastard Targaryen prince and knock out his perfect teeth. “She loves Mors as well.”

Rhaenys chuckled. “I fear she may like him more than you.”

Daemon smiled as he watched his son squeal at Naerys twirling them around. “I would not name it a fear.”

“She’s a sweet girl.”

Daemon frowned. “Jaehaerys is hurting her.”

The book Rhaenys was looking through dropped to the floor with a thud. “What?”

“He has not hit her, as far as I can tell, but he has held her so tightly that she has bruised.”

Rhaenys stood next to Daemon and turned him to face her. “Do you speak truly?”

“Yes.”

“Why hasn’t she said anything?” His cousin looked horrified at her niece’s predicament.

“She’s trying time keep the peace between the family. There is already discontent at her family’s refusal to accept a betrothal with no alternatives.”

Rhaenys’ lips formed a grim line. “Is she aware that you know?”

“She assures next that he hasn’t truly hurt her.” The  _ yet  _ once again echoed in his very bones. He had felt such a burning anger that anyone would lay a hand in any woman and seem to find pleasure in it. 

“Daemon, while I would encourage an attachment between yourself and Naerys, I don’t want it to be for the wrong reasons.” Rhaenys paused. “Would you seek a betrothal to protect her from Jaehaerys or because you believe you could come to care for her?”

Daemon watched as Naerys and his son played. It made him miss Alayna, but the sting was not so great as it had been the last few years. His son was happy. Mors appeared to enjoy King’s Landing and Naerys most of all. She did not treat him poorly due to his bastard status. She encouraged him to tell Mors stories of Alayna, and even asked if there had been anything Alayna had wished to give Mors when he was older than she might have been unable to make for him before her death. 

 “Can’t it be for both?” he asked. 

—

“Prince Daemon,” Naerys came to him the morning of the tournament. 

He looked and found her already dressed for the day. She wore a blue dress that was of Dornish fashion. He knew it was a gift from her Aunt Rhaenys and his mother since he had been the one to pick the fabric up from the marketplace. The silk held to her figure and left little to the imagination, however, it was far more modest than the dresses Rhaenys or his mother wore. She looked… it was not the style he had grown accustomed to seeing her in. Her hair was loose and down, with a few braids pulling her hair from her face. A dragon pin with rubied eyes kept them all in place. 

She looked beautiful. Although, in truth, she has always been so. 

Daemon bowed. “Princess.”

It was then that he realized she held something in her hands. She was fiddling with it and he saw that it was a handkerchief. 

“I…” Her cheeks turned red as she seemed to try and find the right words. “I always make a token for my father when he participates. He carries my mother’s as well.” She chewed her bottom lip carefully. When she released it, it was red and looked almost as though she had been kissed. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time awakened, however, he kept himself collected as she gathered herself once more. He watched her carefully as she handed him the handkerchief. “I made this for you.”

He took it from her gently from her hands. It was embroidered with a red sun and two wolves, a white and grey one, howling to it upon a field of gold. It was well done considering how little time she most likely had to make it. She had been doing so much recently, he truly had no idea when she had made the time to sew it. 

“I understand if you wish to carry someone else’s favor, and know that I will cheer on my father should you face one another but—”

Daemon dipped his head down and pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. She froze for only a moment before basking in the touch. He pulled away and watched as her eyes fluttered open. “I will treasure it, Princess.”

She blushed. Naerys got on her toes and pressed a kiss to his own cheek. She returned to her heels and smiled. “I wish you good fortune in the tournament.”

Daemon smiled and lifted her token in his hand. “I believe, with this, I shall find it.” Her smile brightened. “I have something for you as well,” he admitted. “I know this tournament today  is for your nameday, which is not until tomorrow, but since I shall wear your token, perhaps you could wear mine?”

He pulled from his pocket a small pouch and gave it to her. Hesitantly, she opened the pouch and pulled out a golden necklace. Upon the chain was a decent sized ruby that looked like a shield with a golden spear positioned diagonally behind the setting. 

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. Naerys looked up at him through her lashes. “Could you help me put it on?”

“Of course.” 

He tucked the handkerchief into his breast pocket and took the necklace from her hand. She turned around and pulled her hair to the side of her neck. Daemon lifted the necklace over her head and wrapped it around her neck before clasping it. Naerys pulled her hair through and then turned to look at him, straightening the necklace against her chest. 

_ Beautiful.  _

She blushed and Daemon realized he had said it aloud. 

—

Daemon took satisfaction that one of his opponents happened to be Jaehaerys, he had already beaten one of the kingsguards, a Waymar Tyrell, who didn’t deserve to have a name so close to Daemon’s father. 

The two princes readied themselves on their steeds. The Targaryen rode an ebony black horse with a red saddle. The horse was large and Daemon knew that meant it might be slower but better able to take impact. Daemon, however, rode his albino mare. It had been given to him two years ago by his grandfather. The horse had served him well and was fast. She was good for riding and tournaments and trusted her not to be skidding around bigger horses. 

He pulled out his favor from Naerys and tied it around the hand that would hold his lance. Because she had asked and true violence had yet to occur, he could not take his anger out on Jaehaerys outside these condoned sessions. However, should he knock Jaehaerys in his ass, it would be for Naerys and Daemon so desperately hoped she would find some joy in the view. 

He rode out and readied his steed. In that moment, he was not a prince. He was a knight riding to defend a girl’s honor. He was a knight protecting a girl from a white dragon. He would not fail. He refused. 

The horn blew to begin their match and Daemon drove forward, aiming his lance carefully towards Jaehaerys’ shoulder. The Targaryen was doing so as well, however his steed’s speed allowed for Daemon to position his shield in time to deflect the attack and push past his shield, knocking the Targaryen to the ground with a satisfying  _ twang _ . He slowed his steed down and turned to look at the royal seats. He saw Naerys standing, clapping for him. He smiled at her and she could have sword she smiled back. 

—

Daemon had been lucky enough to make it to the end of the tournament. His final match was against Prince Aegon. The discarded prince had beat his brother, although Daemon knew that Jon Targaryen was better at the sword than at tournaments. The prince had even admitted during a sparring match that he disliked tournaments a great deal. 

Daemon was not so foolish as to believe that he would win. For if one supposedly knew the outcome, than they would never fight as hard with the possibility that they might lose. 

Daemon readied his steed. He kissed the palm of his hand, his lips pressing against the grey wolf he had begun to associate with Naerys. He took a steadying breath and prepared. 

The first hit kept both knights on their horses. As did the second. However, the second jarred Daemon’s shoulder terribly and he knew something had bruised. If he could just knock the prince off for the third attempt, he would be able to get a maester to wrap his shoulder sooner. Gods did it hurt. 

Daemon readied his steed for the third time. He readied his lance. He could do this. He could. He took a deep breath and charged. It happened so quickly that Daemon could hardly believe it had happened. He had thrust lance with enough force that, when it connected with Prince Aegon’s shield, it had forced the prince off his saddle and he toppled off with a  _ tunk.  _

Daemon sat on his steed in shock as the arena erupted in cheers and applause. A squire rushed over to him and offered him the wreath of winter roses. He took it and made his way to Naerys. She looked up at him with wide eyes as he approached her place. 

“Princess,” he offered, holding out the roses to her. “I believe I have been able to find my good fortune.” She smiled and took the wreath gently from his hands and placed it upon her head. His queen of love and beauty. “Do you trust me?” He asked. 

“Yes.”

He offered her his hand and glanced at Elia Sand, who had been sat beside her. His cousin smiled as Naerys took his hand. He pulled her up as Elia helped the princess. Daemon pulled her into the front of his horse so she sat side saddle between his legs. She gripped onto him, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

The crowd continued to cheer as Daemon rode them around the arena so they could all see the woman he had crowned. They threw flowers to them and Naerys laughed, waving to everyone and occasionally catching flowers and throwing them back to the crowd. 

“Happy early nameday, Naerys,” he whispered against her hair. The smell of lavender mixed with the roses. He smiled as he felt her lean against him. 

“You did not have to crown me,” she said, looking up at him. 

He let his smile grow. “I wanted to. Besides, I seem to recall you crowned yourself. I merely handed you the wreath.”

Naerys threw her head back and laughed. 

Daemon’s heart swelled at the sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Another chapter!
> 
> What did you think of Daemon watching Naerys and his conversation with Elia?  
> Naerys gave Daemon her favor and he gave her a present!  
> Daemon vs Jaehaerys?  
> Daemon naming Naerys Queen of Love and Beauty?
> 
> Viserys has a POV next! ❤️


	18. Viserys I

Viserys watched as his niece danced with the Dornish prince. Naerys smiled brightly, laughing as the man, a boy really, twirled her around the dance floor. Something about her had shifted since the Dornish party had arrived in King’s Landing. She had appeared more open and more at ease, especially around Daemon Martell. Her smiles were more vibrant and easy and her laughter rang happily along the halls on the occasions they walked together with his son. 

He knew that not everyone was pleased by Naerys forming an attachment to the Dornish prince. His brother, his sister, Aegon and his wife, and Jaehaerys. He was _almost_ surprised when he learned that Lyanna did not approve of it either. Elia had confided that Lyanna did not like Daemon because he had a bastard already. Viserys thought the reason foolish since the only reason he had a bastard was because his grandfather had not allowed him to marry the mother of his child. He also didn’t shirk his duties as a father when he could have easily. In Viserys’ mind, that made him a better man than most. 

He then thought to what Rhaenys has told him. 

_Jaehaerys is hurting Naerys._

_Jaehaerys is_ hurting _Naerys._

It made his blood boil to think that his niece was being hurt in any way. Rhaenys has said it was nothing severe _yet_ , but that did not stop the rage Viserys felt bubble inside him. He only vaguely remembered his own mother, but he recalled the bruises. The black, purple, and brown marks soaked into her porcelain skin like resin. The smell of herbs to help with the pain coming off her like perfume. The way she had whispered she was okay and then proceed to ask her if he was. He could still hear his mother’s screams when his father dragged her to their room after the deaths of Rickard and Brandon Stark. 

Viserys rarely liked dwelling on it, but his niece reminded him of his mother, ever mindful of her duty. There was a softness, a gentleness, in her that many took note of. Before his death, Ser Barristan Selmy has said as much once when Naerys was a little girl. He remembered the girl had smiled and hid behind her mother’s skirts when told. While Little dragonfly was what many called her, and Viserys himself jokingly called her little fish, some of the older servants and knights said she was like Rhaella reborn, as though the gods had given her a second chance at a happier life, a life where she might be loved as she should have been. 

Viserys would have thought that his brother would have sought to protect that innocence, that political mind that cared about the people. Instead Rhaegar was planning on betroth if Naerys to Jaehaerys, who, while not mad, reminded Viserys too much of the shadows his father had cast upon his childhood. 

Viserys watched as his niece continued to dance, the crown of roses still atop her head and prayed to any gods listening that she might be saved from his mother’s fate. 

—

Arya elbowed him hard in the side. “Ow!” he grimaced. “Woman—” he stopped when he saw her pointed looked and glanced in the direction she motioned with her eyes. “Seven hells.”

He walked quickly through those merely watching the dancing, occasionally forcing his way through. This was Naerys’ nameday feast and he refused to allow Daenerys to ruin it. He made his way to his sister and grabbed her hand before Jon or Sansa could even notice her. 

“Dance with me, little sister,” he said, although his tone did not imply it as a request. 

Anger flashed in her eyes, but he knew she wouldn’t make a scene, as shown by the smile she let slide onto her lips. “Of course, brother,” she said through her teeth. 

Viserys pulled her out onto the dance floor and began the steps into the music. “Don’t bother Jon,” he said casually as the danced, his expression remained light so no one would guess what they were speaking of if they were watching. Gods he hated the politics of this place—this family. 

“I’m not bothering him. He would rather dance with me than his little wife.”

Viserys doubted it. Although Arya didn’t see it, Viserys was under the impression that his nephew loved his wife more than he showed. “It’s his daughter’s nameday, you will not spoil it.”

“I would not be spoiling it,” Daenerys insisted. “Jon would rather dance with me and Naerys deserves a strong mother who can support her.”

Viserys tightened his grip on his sister’s hand. “Jon would rather dance with his wife and what could you possibly offer Naerys? You have no political or social connections to support her.”

“I am Daenerys Storm—”

“You are a woman not even close to the throne and have taken up no projects. Seven hells, even _Margaery_ has more to stand on than you.”

His sister’s violet eyes flashed. “I am a Targaryen.”

“And that will get you nowhere. The people hate us, Dany. I know I haven’t been the best brother to you.” She scoffed. “I am well aware of that, but if you truly love Jon stop acting as though he is bedding you whenever you are around Sansa.” His sister’s jaw worked. “If you hold any love for this _family_ stop it now. Leave and go to Dragonstone, sail to the Free Cities. Do something. If you try to disrupt their family you will be hated. You will be hated beyond saving, Dany. I’m telling you this because I love you, little sister. Our family is already coming apart at the seams. Do not pull that final thread.”

“You don’t know Jon like _I_ do.”

This is why he hated these sorts of conversations. “I think I know him a fair bit better than you do, you want to know why?” She said nothing. “Because I am a husband and a father. Do not mess with him Dany, because you will lose him if you think you just have to push him far enough to have him fall in bed with you. Jon is the type of man who will put his family—his wife and daughter—before anything. If you don’t want to lose him or be humiliated, don’t try anything.”

Gods, he needed to speak to Jon. The situation in King’s Landing was worse than he thought. 

—

When he was finally able to force Daenerys away by practically guilt tripping their brother into dancing with her, Viserys went to Sansa and asked her for a dance. His good sister accepted and he took her out upon the dance floor. 

He’d always liked Sansa, Viserys had thought she might temper Aegon’s more Targaryen traits. He’d been angry at his nephew’s treatment of her and felt hopeful over her marriage to Jon. When he married Arya soon after they had left King’s Landing and began their traveling and Viserys had hoped that by the time they returned with Brandon in tow that Sansa and Jon would begin their happily married lives together. 

He’d been foolish to think that any son of his brother had any skills at talking to their significant others. What made it worse was that Jon was not even there when he arrived back in King’s Landing so there had been no one to reprimand. 

This all had gone on for far too long and he just couldn’t stand it anymore. 

“You should talk to Jon,” he told her as they began to dance. 

Sansa looked up at him in surprise. “What?”

“You should talk to Jon.”

His good sister blushed slightly. “We talk.”

“About children.”

Her blush deepened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You can’t hide things from me, Sansa,” he said, squeezing her hand gently. “Arya talks to me, well complains to me, about you all the time. She told me about you wanting more children.”

Sansa looked away. “What Jon and I have is fine as it is. It’s… it’s been getting better recently. I don’t want to ruin it.”

“Sansa, it won’t ruin anything. I guarantee Jon wants to have more children with you.”

“He prefers—”

“If you are about to say Daenerys, I will drop you.” She glared up at him, but he merely smiled. “He doesn’t love her, Sansa.” She tensed. “He doesn’t. His feelings towards Dany are only brotherly. Stop letting this fear guide you, Sansa. He isn’t Aegon. He isn’t his father. Jon is Jon. He would never purposefully hurt you. I promise.”

Sansa took a deep breath. “And if he does?”

Viserys laughed. “Then you can tell Arya and she can smack me for leading you on and we all will probably have to flee to Essos because your sister will kill him if he hurts you.” 

Sansa chuckled. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because you’re the smartest person I know and, deep down, you know I’m right.”

—

“Jon,” Viserys motioned to his nephew. “Could you walk with me for a second?”

Jon looked at him for a moment before looking down at his daughter, whom he had been speaking with. 

“Go on,” Naerys said. “Prince Daemon said he would dance with me again for the next set.”

Jon smiled and leaned in to kiss his daughter on the cheek. “Alright.” He then turned and followed Viserys out into the gardens. “You needed to speak with me, Viserys?”

“I have plenty of things to say, more suggestions really.”

“Such as?”

“Distance yourself from Daenerys.”

Jon narrowed his eyes. “Dany? Why?”

“That leads to my second point. Speak with Sansa.”

His nephew’s confusion melted into concern. “Is everything alright?”

“After the trip to the Vale, you plan on remaining in King’s Landing unless absolutely necessary, right?” Jon nodded. “Then talk to your wife. You two need to show a united front now more than ever.”

“For Naerys.”

“Yes, for Naerys. _You_ have allowed yourselves to look divided for too long. Talk to Sansa. Naerys needs you to be united on all fronts in front of the others.” Viserys took a deep breath. “There is something else you need to know, Jon.”

“What is it?”

“Jaehaerys is hurting Naerys.”

All color drained from Jon’s face as he let Viserys’ words sink in. Then, his eyes turned to steel. Daenerys or his father might think the look was that of a dragon, but Viserys knew better. This was a wolf ready to attack in order to protect its pup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon has a POV next and believe me, Dany will try to convince him about Jaehaerys again and he will NOT be having it.


	19. Jon III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I turned 24 today! Yay!

“Jaehaerys is hurting Naerys.”

Jon’s blood went cold. He pictured that perfect babe settled in his arms as she snuggled her nose into his chest. He pictured the little girl that would cry due to a needle prick on her finger who would ask him to kiss it better. His little girl. His daughter. His precious Naerys. 

And she was being hurt. 

At first, his stomach knotted uncomfortably. Why hadn’t she come to him? Why had she gone to Viserys instead? Gods, this was his fault. He should have been around her more. He should have kept a closer eye on her. Was this how his grandfather felt when he thought Jon’s mother had been kidnapped and raped?

Then, his blood began to boil. Jaehaerys was hurting Naerys. Jon’s little girl who was good and kind and everything Jon wished he could be. 

His hand flexed against the pummel of his sword. How dare his nephew touch his daughter in any capacity when she had made it clear she did not want to have anything to do with him. 

Viserys put his hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Don’t do anything rash.”

“Rash?” Jon said through gritted teeth. “You tell me that my nephew is hurting my daughter and you tell me not to act rashly?”

His uncle sighed. “As much as I don’t agree with Naerys having kept this a secret, I can understand why. This isn’t something that you can fix with a sword, Jon. Not without causing a multitude of problems for the family, but especially Naerys and possibly any other girl Jaehaerys has hurt.”

Jon released a slow breath. “Then what do you suggest I do?”

“Get your father to give up every idea of marrying them. If she says it now, he might think she’s using it as an excuse to not get married—”

“It’s a good reason not to!”

“Yes, it is, but your father will just see it as an excuse. So have him see reason that she shouldn’t marry Jaehaerys and soon after let Naerys tell him the truth. If she has no other reason to want to separate herself from him, Rhaegar might be more willing to listen.”

“I don’t like this.”

“I don’t either, but it’s better than starting another Dance of Dragons. Westeros doesn’t need another civil war. Not with a great winter coming upon us in a few years or so. Naerys wouldn’t want that either.”

Jon knee his uncle was right and hated it. Naerys wouldn’t want him to go to war for her, she wouldn’t want that for anyone. She had the backing of three major families and the support of many others, yet she would never ask them to defend her in that way if she knew of a more peaceful solution. Jon sighed. 

“You said I needed to speak with Sansa as well? Does she know?”

“No, only myself, Naerys, Rhaenys and Prince Daemon know.”

Jon narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Why would the Dornish prince know?”

Viserys shrugged. “He was sent here as a suitor, but also as a Dornish representative not related to her to see if she would make a good queen someday. Apparently he’s very observant and noticed bruises on her arm, or we just got used to how Jaehaerys behaves in general and just didn’t notice.”

Jon wasn’t sure how he felt about either of those things. 

—

He knocked on his wife’s door as the keep was preparing for bed. Their daughter had been given her own rooms and solar, although it was close to theirs. Gods, he missed having his daughter closer. 

“Come in,” Sansa’s voice came. 

Jon opened the door and found Sansa already in her night dress. It had been over fifteen years since he had first seen his wife in such a state and she still made his blood run hit with want. But she didn’t want him that way. When she had been pregnant with Naerys, Jon had thought she might… but that was years ago and Jon had given up the hope that his wife might return his affection. 

Sansa smiled kindly at him. “Did you need something, Jon?”

She had begun using his name more often in their conversations and he had been using hers. It was as though there had been a small shift in their relationship. One for the better. 

“It’s about Naerys.”

Sansa’s smile disappeared. “Is she alright?”

“It was brought to my attention that…” It was hard for Jon to even voice it. “Jaehaerys has been hurting Naerys.”

His wife’s eyes grew wide and he saw her knees buckle underneath her. Jon rushed to Sansa’s side and eased her down until they were both kneeling on the floor. 

“Oh, gods,” she covered her mouth in horror.

So, Naerys hadn’t told her mother either. 

He watched as tears began to slide down her cheeks and Jon pulled Sansa into his arms as she began to sob. He held her tightly as she clung to his tunic, pressing her face into his chest. Jon began to stroke her hair gently, trying to calm her down before he continued. 

He couldn’t remember another time his wife had cried save perhaps the moment she had first held Naerys in her arms

She pushed him away only slightly to look at him, but not far enough that she was outside his arm. “What is being done about it?”

“Not many people know. Viserys, Rhaenys, and Prince Daemon are the only others that know. So far, they are keeping Naerys away from Jaehaerys as much as possible.”

“She can’t marry him,” Sansa whispered. 

“I wasn’t going to let her regardless.” Without thought he pressed a kiss to his wife’s brow. “I promise, Sansa, I will not let him marry our daughter.”

“Your father will think it an excuse not to—”

“I know, which is why we need him to end the talks of betrothal.”

Sansa nodded, still not moving from his arms. “Naerys seems to care for Prince Daemon.”

Jon nodded. The Dornish prince had impressed him in sparring and during the tourney. The way he had let Naerys crown herself had also been a sight to see as well as letting her join him in the triumph of his win. He was a good man, from what Jon could see. A good father too, a better one than Jon had been when Naerys was Mors’ age. 

“We can talk to Naerys and see what she thinks, if she is willing to form an attachment to Daemon, the we can take it up with my father. If we are able to get him to side with us, to see reason, we will be able to bring up what Jaehaerys has been doing safely without my father thinking it’s an excuse.”

Sana’a nodded. 

“I promise you, Sansa, I will protect our daughter. Your older brother has sent word that he is coming to King’s Landing soon with a delegation of Wildlings, isn’t he?” She nodded again. “If we have the heir to the North on our side, perhaps it will be a greater chance for my father to see reason, that the people would not support Jaehaerys as Naerys’ husband.”

“But you will not be here when they arrive. You are to leave for the Vale soon.”

Jon’s stomach twisted. He had forgotten all about that. He closed his eyes and when he opened them, he found his wife no longer looking at him, although he could feel her disappointment. 

“Sansa, I’ll tell my father I cannot go.” She looked up at him with wide eyes. “I can send someone else, someone we can trust. My place is here, with you and our daughter.”

“You’ll stay here?”

“Yes. And unless we go to war or we all travel together as a family, I will not be leaving you or Naerys again.”

Jon could see a small bit of hope bloom in his wife’s gaze. 

—

Jon walked with Sansa along the gardens and came upon Naerys and Daemon walking as well. When they came across the younger two, Naerys blushed before curtsying to them both. Daemon turned a little red as well before bowing. 

If Jon didn’t know how much it would embarrass his daughter, he would have chuckled. He remembered being that age. Although, too be fair; he had usually avoided such things, which was why when his pretty cousin had first come to King’s Landing he had avoided her a lot, although he hadn’t come to terms with that until much later. 

“Naerys, Prince Daemon, my wife and I had something we wished to discuss with you.” He glanced at Sansa, who nodded. “Will you walk with us?”

The young couple nodded and walked next to them. 

“Is there something you needed, Father?”

“As you know, the king wishes for you to be engaged to your cousin, Jaehaerys.”

He watched as Daemon’s eyes hardened and Naerys gripped the prince’s arm while keeping a cool look in her eyes that she definitely inherited from her mother. 

“While my father wants this, your mother and I do not. We know you don’t wish for that betrothal and we know why.” His daughter took in a sharp breath. “We know. However, perhaps if your grandfather saw that you truly preferred someone else, we might be able to change his mind.”

“That’s where I come in,” Daemon said. 

“That’s where you come in,” Sansa agreed. “It doesn’t need to be permanent if that’s what you wish, however omit you want, it can be a way to end the talks of engagement between Naerys and Jaehaerys.”

His daughter looked to Daemon, who looked down at her and smiled. “You’re my queen of love and beauty,” he joked. “I believe it’s my honor to protect your crown.”

Naerys blushed but smiled up at him. 

Jon smiled at them both. He glanced at Sansa and found her smiling too.

—

“Jon.” He turned and saw Dany coming up behind him. 

He almost smiled when he remembered. Distance yourself from Daenerys. He didn’t understand what his uncle meant. Dany had been one of Jon’s closest friends since childhood. She was his sister in every way save for she was technically his aunt. However, Jon also remembered that Viserys had told him he needed to show a united front with Sansa if they were to protect Naerys. Perhaps if he could sway Dany to see reason and side with the union between Naerys and anyone but Jaehaerys…

“Hello, Dany. Where are you off to?”

“The stables,” she answered. “I wish to go riding. Your wife’s sewing circle is meeting and I'd rather go riding.”

Jon frowned. “It’s not a sewing circle, Dany.”

“It might as well be. It’s not as though they hold any real power.”

Jon continued to frown. “They may not start or finish wars, but they make sure that more people don’t die if there were one. Sansa is starting an initiative to help bastards find a way for themselves in the world. It’s rather important work.”

Dany cocked an eyebrow. “It’s Sansa now?”

He didn’t like how she said his wife’s name. “It’s always been Sansa. I just didn’t feel as though I deserved to say it till now.”

It was his aunt’s turn to frown then. “Jon, you really need to talk to her about Jaehaerys. He’s a good boy, a man really, and a true dragon. Naerys could use him by her side. She’s too soft.”

“You don’t know her, Dany. You never have. She’s stronger than you think she is and her kindness is not a weakness.”

Dany rolled her eyes. “She needs to be harder or else she will break. Jaehaerys can help her.”

“He will break her if he’s given any more of a chance.”

“He’s a dragon, Jon. Sometimes a person we love might get hurt by our claws. Surely you understand that.” She put her hand on his arm, but Jon pulled away. 

“That shouldn’t be how things are,” Jon said, feeling anger bubble in his chest. “My daughter will not become another Rhaella to a mad king who gets off on hurting her.”

Dany scowled. “My father loved my mother.”

“No, he didn’t. Maybe once, as a brother might love a sister, but never as a woman to marry. Especially not later. Especially not later.”

“Jaehaerys loves Naerys.”

“He loves a woman he thinks he can control. A woman he thinks he can have power over.”

Dany frowned. “What has gotten into you? Can’t you see, this marriage could save the family. Bring balance and keep the peace our family has had for over three hundred years.”

“Peace? When has our family ever truly had peace? Perhaps if you went to Sansa and Princess Elia’s small council meetings you would—”

“A dragon does not concern himself with the opinion of a sheep.”

Jon stiffened. “Then a dragon does not have any right to rule over them.”

He promptly turned on his heels and left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon’s reaction to Jaehaerys hurting his daughter. What did you guys think? Was it enough?  
> Jon’s not going to the Vale!  
> The TargStarks talking about a Naemon engagement!  
> Dany is losing him! HA!
> 
> Sansa POV next! ❤️
> 
> I also made a few moodboards for this fic so check out the tag on my tumblr!


	20. Sansa III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to start updating this fic every Monday and Friday

“I will not go to the Vale,” her husband said, his hand on hers, hidden by the table they sat at in the king and queen’s solar. 

“You’ve already promised and they’re expecting you,” the king replied. 

“Yes, that was before you were trying to betroth my daughter to Jaehaerys,” Jon said darkly. “Everyone knows that Robert Arryn sees monsters in every shadow. Just send a good maester we can trust to investigate his mother’s death. I’m needed here.”

“It is your duty—”

“It was my duty before I was named your heir. Aegon should have taken over after I married Sansa. Instead, he stayed here with his wife and son while I was made to tour around the Seven Kingdoms. Now you feel as though you can make decisions for _my_ daughter without listening to me.”

“And you think Daemon Martell would make a better husband?” the king asked. “While he might be a prince in Dorne, he is not worthy to wed a dragon.”

“While I do not think Naerys should marry Jaehaerys,” Sansa’s aunt interjected. “Daemon Martell has a bastard. How are we to trust he won’t father more?”

“His child wouldn’t have been a bastard if his grandfather had allowed him to marry the boy’s mother,” Sansa said gently. In truth, she loved the little boy greatly. While she had been hesitant for Naerys to be thrust into a position of motherhood at such a young age, Mors Sand was a sweet boy whom Sansa could already find herself acting as a grandmother to. She knew Jon cared for the boy as well. 

“Even so,” the queen began.

“Perhaps she should aim for a man already married with two trueborn children of his own,” Jon snarled. 

Sansa’s gaze snapped to her husband, yet Jon did not even twitch in acknowledgment of her movement, his gaze set firmly on his parents. 

The king turned red and stood. “How dare—”

Jon stood as well, letting go of Sansa’s hand. “I dare. You almost selfishly tore this country apart with your love. The Martells tolerate us, the Stormlands hate us, the North, Vale, and Riverlands would rather have nothing to do with us. I will watch this family burn if it means my daughter had the freedom to be with a man of her choice, a man who won’t view her as his property as Jaehaerys will. If you force the issue, I will take my family North and I will start another Dance, but this time there are no dragons and I assure you _Father_ that you will find little support on your side.”

“Jon,” Sansa said gently.

He looked down at her and sat once more, taking her hand in his, this time placing them both on the table for his parents to see. “Unless my daughter tells me otherwise, she will not marry Jaehaerys and I will continue to push forward a union between my daughter and Daemon Martell.” The king still stood, his face red. “You want me to be a dragon, Father? Then I’ll be a dragon. Naerys is _my_ daughter. _Mine_ and Sansa’s. You have no right to her and if you believe yourself to have any love for her at all, do not force this betrothal on her or I will gladly tear this country apart. You did it for Mother. I will do it for our daughter.”

Jon squeezes her hand and Sansa squeezed back. 

—

Sansa sat down with her daughter in the gardens for tea. She could hardly believe that Naerys was sixteen. It felt as though she were a small babe being placed in her arms with tufts of red hair and big blue eyes. Now marriage was being discussed and Sansa wondered where all the time had gone. 

“Mother, you’re being nostalgic again,” Naerys said with a smile. 

Sansa laughed and shook her head, taking a sip from her tea. “I suppose I am. While I know you are practically a woman grown, you shall always be my little girl.”

“I know, Mother.”

“And as nearly a woman grown, you know what has already been discussed.”

Naerys went pale. “I do.”

Sansa reached out and took her daughter’s hand. “Your father and I are fighting against the betrothal to Jaehaerys and pushing for one with Daemon.” She squeezed Naerys’ hand. “I will _never_ let that monster put a hand on you.”

Naerys looked at her in surprise, her eyes glistening. “Thank you.”

“Now, about Daemon,” her daughter blushed and Sansa smiled. “Is he someone you would want to marry?”

Her daughter thought for a moment. “He is kind and I trust him with my whole heart,” she said at last. “He would make a good husband.”

“Could you love him as a wife is asked to?”

Her daughter’s cheeks turned a deeper crimson. “I think so. I think I could grow to love him. Love him as a man and father of my children. He’s kind to me.”

Sansa smiled. “And he has a willingness to protect you.”

Naerys nodded. “And I care for Mors. I would not send him back to Dorne if Daemon and I marry. I will not.”

“No one is asking you to, sweetling,” Sansa said gently. “I just want to make certain that you are sure this is what you want.”

“I have never believed I would marry as Grandmother and Grandfather did. Love like that is dangerous. People can get hurt.” Sansa’s heart broke for her daughter. She almost wished the king and queen would continue to push so Jon would take them both North, away from the politics of the south. “I know what my duty is, but I will find happiness where I can and I know if I were to marry Daemon, I would be happy. I truly think I would be happy.”

Sansa smiled. “That’s what I care about most.” She squeezed her daughter’s hand one more time before returning it to under the table. “I do believe that boy is half in love with you already.”

“ _Mother!_ ” Naerys’ cheeks became redder than her hair. . 

Sansa laughed before taking another sip of tea. 

—

While never actively avoiding Daenerys, Sansa spent most of her time, blessedly, away from the Targaryen princess’ company. However, that did not seem to be her fate that day. 

“Shall we take a walk, good niece?” she said with a lizard like smile. “It is not as though you have anything better to do.”

Sansa held her tongue, thinking on it was the princess who truly had all the time in the world. She was so tempted to ask what the princess even _did_ when it came to helping the Seven Kingdoms or even their family. “I have time for a short walk,” she said instead. “Although I have some business with Rhaenys about trading routes with Dorne later.”

Daenerys’ smile froze on her lips. “Of course.” She made no offer of her arm and Sansa did not offer either. 

Sometimes, Sansa could not believe her husband was having an affair, could not believe the honorable Jon Targaryen would do such a thing or how he even had the time to. However, the haughty looks Daenerys gave her always made Sansa pause. 

“I have an ulterior notice for asking you on this little jaunt,” the princess admitted and Sansa stopped. Daenerys stopped as well and turned to Sansa. “While Jon is being stubborn and continues to view Naerys as a little girl, surely you understand that it is her duty to marry whomever the king wishes and that person is Jaehaerys.”

“My daughter is still young and she doesn’t need to marry anyone she does not wish to. And she doesn't want to marry Jaehaerys. You seem to be under the impression that Jon and I are making these decisions for her. No, we are simply listening to what she has to say in the matter.”

“Then perhaps you have given her too much freedom,” Daenerys said. 

Sansa’s features darkened at the memory of her daughter admitting she never thought of marrying for love. 

“If _I_ were her mother, she would know her duty.” Sana’a stiffened. “How the gods can be cruel. It is one thing that she doesn’t even have the Targaryen look but she had to behave like a trout as well.”

“ _My_ daughter deserves more than an inbred boy who acts as though _he_ is the heir to the crown,” Sansa snarled. People always forgot that she had the blood of wolves running through her veins. The Targaryens thought they were so powerful with their three hundred years of rulership. She had the blood of the Kings of Winter that went back thousands of years. “ _My_ daughter, _Jon’s_ daughter, will not be shackled to the _Mad King_ reborn.”

“You think you are so special being able to give Jon a child,” Daenerys snarled. “If I had been able to bear children and you had just spread your legs for Aegon, Jon would have married _me._ ”

“I would not.”

Both women were startled and Sansa turned to see her husband coming towards them. He looked angry, as angry as he had been when speaking to his parents. 

Jon stood next to Sansa, his chin lifted as he stared down at Daenerys. “I have _never_ loved you in that way, Daenerys. Never. My feelings for you have always been sibling affection since you lacked it from my father and Viserys. Not once have I thought of marrying you. Not once have u thought of giving you children, even before you learned you were barren.”

Sansa looked at her husband in shock. What?

“I had thought to let your thoughts of my daughter’s betrothal slide. While I had hoped you would see sense, I should have known you would always side with my father in everything. But I will not allow you to poison my wife’s mind with your words nor spew such atrocities about my daughter. If you truly hold any love for me I ask you to stay away from my wife and daughter. I will have nothing more to do with you Daenerys. We will be as aunt and nephew.” Jon offered Sansa his arm and she took it, shock still running through her veins as Daenerys paled. “Whatever affection I may have held for you as my sister is gone. Good day, Aunt Daenerys.” Her husband promptly guided her away from the Targaryen princess. He glanced at a passing servant. “Send my apologise to my sister and tell her that I will be spending the afternoon with my wife.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. He knew her schedule. 

—

Jon walked them back to their solar. Both were quiet the entire way until they had entered the privacy of their chambers. When the door closed, Jon turned to her. “Are you okay?”

Sansa blinked up at him. “You never slept with Daenerys.” Her voice was barely a whisper but it felt as though her heart was going to burst from her chest. “You…”

Her husband’s grey eyes grew sad, his expression turned tender. “You are the only woman I have ever known,” he said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “The only woman I have ever wanted to.”

Something in Sansa broke and she needed to sit down as tears began to bubble in her vision. She turned away from her husband and sat on one of their sparse chairs. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. He had never slept with Daenerys. He had never—

“Sansa,” he was kneeling before her. “Sansa, please look at me.”

“You never slept with her,” she cried. 

“No, I didn’t. The thought never even crossed my mind. I have been loyal to you and only you. Sansa, I am so sorry I let you believe such a lie.” He took one of her hands and kissed it. “I’m so sorry.” He pressed her hand to his cheek. 

“But you never wanted me,” she whispered.

“In the beginning I thought you loved Aegon. I thought I was a poor substitute for a silver prince like in the songs you loved.” He looked up at her, his grey eyes dark. “Then I thought I had disappointed you, that you did not want me in your bed. I should have asked. I should have asked you what you wanted instead of assuming. I am sorry. I am so sorry, Sansa.” He let go of her hand and cupped her face in his own, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. “I have been the one to ruin this marriage. I should have fought harder. Harder to stay.”

Sansa watched him, watched the care she had always known resided in her husband, and watched him pour that care into her. 

“Jon,” Sansa breathed. She gathered all the supposed courage Viserys saw in her. 

“Yes?”

“I want another child.”

His eyes grew dark and Jon leaned forward, claiming her lips with his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon bringing out all the receipts this chapter, especially with his parents.  
> Sweet mother daughter moment! ❤️  
> The claws came out between Sansa and Dany, didn’t they?  
> Sansa’s reaction to realizing Jon hasn’t been having an affair was based on [THIS](https://youtu.be/t_NZNgm66xI)
> 
> Daenerys will have a POV next


	21. Daenerys II

_ I will be spending the afternoon with my wife. _

Jon’s final words as he guided the slut away echoed across Daenerys’ mind as she stormed away, her skirt billowing behind her like sails on a warship. She could just imagine Viserys laughing at her humiliation. At his perfect Sansa, the little, docile sister he always wanted, fooling Jon with her pathetic attempts at strength. 

She knew not what her expression was, but it had the servants parting the way for her as she went to her rooms. Upon entry, the maids cleaning her chambers froze. 

“Get out,” Daenerys managed to say through gritted teeth. The two girls fled as though a dragon had breathed down their necks. 

She grabbed the nearest vase, a gift from some Essosi dignitary that had attempted to woo her, and smashed it against the floor. She gave out a loud shriek and pulled at her elaborate braids. Daenerys had no doubt that word of her humiliation was already spreading about the keep. 

How dare that pathetic woman play victim to garner Jon’s sympathies!

“Oh, she is indeed a wolf,” Daenerys hissed. “A wolf that has hidden herself as a pretty little dove.” 

How dare that wolven whore turn Jon against her!

“He is  _ mine!”  _ she roared. Tears began to bubble in her vision as her world began to spin. A knot formed in her throat as she screamed. 

Jon was  _ hers.  _

It had always been the two of them together. He had always been on  _ her  _ side in everything. 

“This is all  _ her  _ fault,” Daenerys growled.

She prowled about her room to think. She needed to think of a way for Jon to see reason once more, that it was  _ okay  _ to set his wife aside and take her on as well. Or let her be his Visenya, his duty to show his continued support to his heir. Daenerys could be his Rhaenys, his marriage for love. For every one night he feels he must spend with the whore, he would spend nine with Daenerys. 

She had lovers before, men who could end an itch. There had even been a few female servants she had brought to her bed. Their kisses had tasted of duty. All of them. No, Jon would kiss her in love. He would mount her as a dragon would its mate. Their passion would light a fire in their blood and there would be true dragons in the Red Keep once more. 

But the Stark girl could not stay. 

Daenerys could convince Rhaegar to let the girl leave for a visit to the North when her brother’s party returns home. Jon would remain behind, of course, since he had renounced traveling. He would see how  _ good  _ it could be when the whore was not around to fill his head with sweet words that dropped venom upon her and Jon’s relationship.  _ She  _ was the reason Jon had pulled away. He was always too honorable. Too honorable to break any vow. 

Jon would stay in the Red Keep, he was too worried about his little dragon to leave. Daenerys smirked, perhaps the Dornish brat was good for something. Naerys would wish to stay close to the man she believes herself to fancy. She would grow tired of his exoticism, just as Rhaegar had grown tired of Elia. Soon she would see the merit Jaehaerys possessed. Daenerys would have to remind him to hold back just a little bit until they were married. Then he could play all the games he wishes to after their wedding night. 

Jon would see what a good mother figure Daenerys was to Naerys. The girl would see that Daenerys was a better choice in all things. Then, the wolf whore could remain in the North where she should never have come from. 

Then, things would be right with the world. 

—

“You wished to speak to me, Aunt Daenerys,” the girl asked, giving a small curtsy when she stepped up to her. 

Daenerys looked the girl over. She truly had the coloring of her whore mother, although there were touches of grey in her blue eyes that reminded Daenerys of Jon. Her nose and jaw looked Valyrian and she could see why some people might compare her to Daenerys’ own mother. The woman had died during her own birth, but Daenerys had seen pictures of her queen mother and thought her beautiful. Not as beautiful or strong as Daenerys, of course. Yes, Naerys would make a good queen for Jaehaerys and his true Targaryen looks. 

The only thing Daenerys didn’t agree with her brother on was the need for Rhaenys’ bastard to enter the equation. Jaehaerys has no interest in her at all. 

“Come,” Daenerys motioned for the girl to come closer. “Sit. I feel as though we have not spoken in ages.”

Naerys looked at her with a blank expression. Daenerys kept her features cool. Her mother had such an empty look when she thought of the frivolities of things like her charities. The girl sat in the chair Daenerys offered and took a sip of the tea being served. 

“Did you wish to discuss something, Aunt?”

She smiled at the girl’s question. “I am under the impression that you wish to be engaged to the Dornish prince, Daemon, is that correct?”

The girl remained impassive. Good, she was not so caught up in the frivolous attachment to blush. “It is, although Grandfather still won’t hear of it.”

Daenerys reached out and took Naerys’ hand. “You are still young. You need not marry right away. I’m certain I can convince my brother of such things. A long engagement might soothe him. Jaehaerys is still young as well.” She felt Naerys’ hand tense under her own. “You need to understand, sweetling, he is more dragon than the rest of us. He is a true dragon and sometimes our claws might hurt the ones we care for. But when it is another dragon, our hides are strong enough to take it.”

Naerys watched her for a long moment before looking away. “When I was a girl, I remember Grandfather telling me I would one day marry Jaehaerys. It was only once when I was a child, but I remember it. I remember the first time he told me such a thing. I had wanted to play with him and the other boys in the keep. They never included me much in their games, but I had wanted to be included. They were playing knights and if I might help Jaehaerys strategize. I didn’t use that word, of course, I doubt I could have pronounced it.”

Daenerys smiled kindly wondering where on earth her little niece was going with such a thing. 

“However, I asked to be his general. He told me I was to be the silent princess I a tower where I could play with my dolls. I was to simply be the reward to whoever won the play fight.” Naerys returned her gaze to Daenerys. “I attempted to take part, to give Jaehaerys some pointers on how to win, I had watched them all training, after all, I had noted their weaknesses. However, the other boys laughed at my attempt to help Jaehaerys. Laughed at him. So, he pushed me and I skinned my hands and knee. I went to grandfather and he told me that Jaehaerys was to be my husband some day and his action had been that of a boy.” Naerys tilted her head as though to study an uninteresting fact. “He’s nearly a man grown now. He can’t hide behind the idea that his actions are that of a boy. I am my father’s heir and my mother’s daughter. I have the blood of Old Valyria and the First Men running through my veins. I deserve to be treated with as much respect and allowance that Jaehaerys is given simply because he is a man, but I am not. I will not give myself to a boy who pretends to be a man while preying on those who cannot fight back.”

Daenerys withdrew her hand and flexed it. 

Naerys stood. “Forgive me, Aunt. The tea has grown cold. I shall escort myself out. I am to meet my cousin Elia in the stables.” The girl curtsied and left with all the grace her whore mother seemed to possess. 

—

For some odd reason, Lyanna requested that the older ladies of the royal family get together for tea. It was something Elia tended to do and Daenerys had no idea as to why Lyanna was attempting something like this  _ now.  _ She also did not understand why Lyanna spent most of her time with Sansa when she usually sat with herself and Margaery. Now she was making small talk with her niece. Daenerys could see it was stilted, and yet she persisted. 

“I think she’s trying to get Sansa to see reason,” Margaery said, although she sounded unsure. “I heard that Jon and the king argued and are not speaking right now due to it.”

Daenerys was shocked. She had not heard of such a thing happening. No wonder Jon had snapped at her, he had been under so much stress due to his wife’s stubbornness. Perhaps he had taken his wife to their rooms to reprimand her. 

“I see you and Jon have finally talked,” Lady Arya said. Daenerys glanced over at her brother’s wife and saw her smirking at her sister. 

“Arya…” Sansa replied with a blush. 

“Oh, it’s quite obvious that my baby brother has given you some attention,” Rhaenys said with a gleam in her eye. 

“Rhae, please, this is embarrassing.”

“You two are acting like blushing virgins,” Arya scoffed. “You’re married and have a grown daughter. We are well aware that you’ve had sex.”

“Arya!”

“He’s right, love,” Rhaenys smiled. “Perhaps you should speak to Jon about his…  _ attention.  _ Such marks are hard enough to his on my own skin, on you they are so much more obvious.”

Daenerys’ eyes widened when she saw the bruise blooming just at the collar of Sansa’s dress. 

“He was… passionate,” Sansa said with a blush as her sister and Rhaenys giggled. 

Daenerys saw red. 

—

“Leave us,” Daenerys said as she approached Naerys. 

The girl who always followed the princess around looked nervously to her. 

“It’s alright, Lyarra,” Naerys said, her gaze not shifting from Daenerys. “You go on ahead.”

The girl, Lyarra, hesitated for a moment before hurrying away. 

“You wished to speak with me?”

“You are determined to not marry Jaehaerys?” Daenerys questioned. 

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Naerys remained blank. “I do not love him in that way is the simplest answer.”

“And the more complex?”

“It’s unwise,” she said simply. “It does nothing for this family, nothing.”

“It strengthens our family,” Daenerys replied, attempting to stay calm. 

“No, it weakens it. You know nothing of the world, Aunt. Not really.” Daenerys stepped forward and took hold of Naerys’ arm and tightened her grip. “You’re hurting me,” the girl said, her voice trembling slightly.

“This is a chance for the dragons to be reborn.”

“What did dragons do except claim what wasn’t there’s and inspire fear? If I am to be queen, I would have them love me.”

“Be smart, Naerys,” Daenerys warned. 

Naerys winced as her grip tightened. “I am.”

“You are a dragon, Naerys, stop acting like a sheep. Jaehaerys loves you.”

“If that is love, I do not want it,” Naerys said with steel in her voice. “His love will burn me alive as the Mad King burned my great grandfather.”

“How dare—”

“Rys!”

Daenerys let the girl go and turned to see the Dornish bastard rushing towards the girl’s skirt. Naerys bent down and picked the boy up and held him tightly in her arms. 

The boy's father came up to stand beside her. “I apologize, Princess,” he said, placing a hand at the small of her back. “I was wondering where you had gotten to.”

Daenerys glanced in the direction he had come from and saw the girl Naerys had been with earlier looking at them all, worried. 

“I was speaking with my aunt,” Naerys replied gently. 

The prince bent his head down slightly, his nose brushing against her temple. “Are you alright?” His voice was barely a whisper. 

Naerys smiled up at him. “With you? Always.” The prince returned her smile. The girl turned her gaze to Daenerys and gave a short curtsy. “I really must take my leave, Aunt. Good day.”

Without so much as a second glance, the three left Daenerys alone in the hall, hit in her simmering rage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuck, another Dany chapter.
> 
> What did you think of her, once again, rewriting the narrative?  
> Her trying to speak with Naerys the first time?  
> Her jealousy of Sansa and Jon being intimate?  
> Her trying to intimidate Naerys dan daemon coming the the rescue! ❤️
> 
> Sansa POV next and we get some... steamy Jonsa moments. Hehe! See you Monday!


	22. Sansa IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some plot happens in this chapter. Just a bit.

Sansa had once believed in songs. 

But whereas songs spanned for only a few minutes, life was much longer than that. 

—

“Jon!” Sansa cried out as he entered her. Pressing in slowly as not to hurt her. Gods it had been so long. Jon’s lips scattered kisses across her skin as he began to run into her. 

“Sansa,” he breathed, his breath like dragon fire across her skin, sending a tingle up her spine as she arched into him. “Sansa.”

Their coupling was fast and passionate. There was no room for a slow burning. No, this was to make up for all the years they had missed, all the years they could have found relief in each other’s arms. They were as they were when they first married. They needed the quickness. They needed relief. 

Jon pressed his thumb against her, just above where her thrust into her. Sansa cried out, her nails digging into his back as she found her release. Jon buried his face into the bed next to her head but she could still hear the roar of his release as he spilled into her. 

Gods, she had missed _that_. That feeling of utter fullness that she had not had in so long. 

Her husband collapsed on top of her, his skin stuck to hers as their sweat mingled. She held onto him as he caught us breath and she did as well. 

Jon pushes himself up slightly and began to kiss every inch of her exposed skin within his reach. “Sansa,” he breathed like a prayer. “Sansa.”

“Jon…” Her head rolled back against her pillow as his lips descended downward and he slipped from her. Sansa whined at the emptiness until she felt his mouth against her. “Jon!”

“Tell me to stop if you want me to,” he tumbled against her skin, sending a shiver up Sansa’s spine. 

Her heart began to pound in her chest. “Don’t stop.”

Jon brought her to release with his tongue and then once more with his cock. The way he said her name as he came, as he spilled into her turned Sansa into a boneless mess beneath him. 

When they were too spent to move, Jon rested atop her body and breathed her in as though she were the fresh air of the North. 

“I believe you have lied to me, my prince,” Sansa said once she caught her breath. 

“Oh?”

“I cannot imagine that you have not had many lovers with how you played me like your father’s harp.”

Her husband laughed, a low rumble of his chest that made Sansa clench her legs tighter around his hips. “I have been with no other, wife,” he said, kissing her just below her ear. “I have only done what I have dreamed of doing since we wed.”

Sansa blushed. “You tease me, Jon.”

He pushed himself up and ground his hips into her own. He was soft but still sheathed inside her and she felt him twitch. “Never about this, Sansa.” He began to roll his hips against hers and Sansa took in a sharp breath as his eyes remained focused on hers. “Never about this.” His movements became more earnest, his cock hardening and his eyes never left Sansa’s. “Never this.”

—

“Tell me of your father,” her aunt asked as they sat in the solar. She had invited her and the other older women of the royal family to tea and Sansa was confused as to why she did not simply drink with Daenerys and Margaery. 

“My father?” Sansa asked. “But why?”

“I have not spoken to my brother in decades,” her aunt said, her eyes distant. “What was he like as a father?”

Sansa thought for a moment. “My father is a strong man. He cares for his family and his people. As a father he was always attentive. While he did not understand my love and fascination of songs, he never discouraged my interests. He was a different sort of father to Arya. Wasn’t he?” She looked to her sister. 

“Aye,” Arya agreed. “He always knew he would have to send you South. He hated it, but he knew the North could not fight against it anymore than we could defeat the dragons during the rebellion.”

“Ned did not want you South?” Lyanna asked, surprised. 

“He did not trust us to be safe in places that did not value family as strongly as he did,” Arya explained. “And he did not like the thought of more Starks being under the direct rule of dragons.”

“I did not know,” the queen said. She was quiet for a moment. “Does… Did your father ever speak of me?”

Sansa felt sorry for her aunt. She had been isolated from her pack for so long. “He speaks of you rarely,” Sansa said, keeping the pity from her voice. “He speaks of you in the context of childhood stories from when Uncle Brandon and Grandfather were alive, but even that is rare. The memories are too painful.”

“Oh.” Lyanna was quiet for a moment. “Tell me more of him, and of your mother.”

Sansa glanced at her sister who shrugged. There was no harm in telling their aunt of the family she missed. 

—

They had not even made it to the bed. 

Jon ravished her against the fur rug of their shared solar. His hips pistoned into her own and he was like a man on a mission to bring her to release as quickly as he possibly could. 

His tongue plundered her mouth and his hands explored every inch of her body. He _worshiped_ her. Every whisper of her name was a prayer. Every kiss and touch an offering. 

“Jon,” Sansa gasped as she edged towards her release. 

Her husband pulled himself as deeply as he could inside her and turned them onto his back. “Ride me,” he growled. Sansa could almost see a touch of violet in his stormy grey eyes. “Ride me, Sansa.”

She felt herself grow flush as she pushed herself up against his chest. Jon held her by her hips and he began to thrust up into her gently, encouraging her to move. 

Slowly, she began to rock against him and the new angle— “Oh!”

She _rode_ him and found herself wanting more, wanting to come down against him harder and harder. Jon thrust up into her, bouncing her against her own thrusts and Sansa cried out for him desperately. 

“Jon! _Jon!_ ”

“That’s it,” he growled. “Take what you want, Sansa. Gods you’re so beautiful. Just like that!” He howled his release as Sansa around her own.

She collapsed atop him, spent. “Jon…”

He pulled her against him and kissed the top of her head. Jon let her slide off of him and he bent over her and picked her up, carrying her to their now shared bed. 

“The furs…” 

“We can have a servant clean them.”

“Jon,” Sansa said, scandalized. 

Her husband laughed as he set her on their bed. “I will send them to my aunt if it pleases you.” He crawled into bed and cuddled up to her. “Let all the keep know that you are mine and I am yours.”

Sansa smiled and buried her face in her husband’s chest and giggled.

—

“Shall I write to Arianne about a betrothal to Naerys?” Rhaenys asked as they walked the gardens. “It will be harder for my father to reject it should Dorne make a formal request.”

Sansa thought for a moment. “Let the two get to know one another better,” Sansa urged. “My brother shall be coming soon and he can meet the prince. It would go a long way to get Northern approval for the match as well.”

Rhaenys frowned. “I hate that you and Arya can’t be the voice of Northern opinions.”

Sansa sighed. “We have been in the south or away from Westeros for too long. Besides, having my older brother and then my father backing the betrothal will help endear it to the people even more. The king craves the people’s love, even though he has not had it for years.”

“True.” Rhaenys squeezed Sansa’s arm. “We need to be careful. I do not doubt that Aegon and Margaery will try something. My father might not actively participate, but he may turn a blind eye to their planning. It does not help that Daenerys May go more openly against you now that you and Jon have reconciled.”

Sansa blushed. “Jon has been quite passionate recently.”

“He’s been repressed for as long as Naerys has been alive. If you want him to leave you alone, I suggest beating him off with a stick. It might be your only option.”

Sansa laughed. 

“Are you happy, then?”

“Very much so.” Sansa smiled off into the distance. “We are going to try for another child.”

Rhaenys paused. “That… might change things. Especially if you have a son.”

“I know.”

“Do you want a son?”

Sansa sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t want to displace my daughter, who has trained to become queen her entire life, but I wish I could give her freedom that being a queen does not offer.”

Rhaenys grimaced. “It would free her from Aegon and Margaery’s grasp. I have no doubt they would try for a girl if you had a son.”

Sansa nodded. “But it would protect her from Jaehaerys, I think. The father might not push for _that_ betrothal if Jon had a male heir.”

“Perhaps.”

“How is Naerys?”

“Daemon and Elia rarely leave her side and Lyarra has become adept at running to them should she sense trouble.”

“Daemon has a naturally protective nature,” Rhaenys said. “He would make a good consort to Naerys if she is queen and a good husband regardless.”

Sansa smiled.

—

Sansa watched as her daughter attempted archery. Daemon had offered to show her the finer points of the art. He stood behind her and helped her with the bow and her hold on it. When the arrow let loose and hit its mark, she had cheered happily, clapping for herself. She looked up to the Dornish prince with such admiration that Sansa might call it love. 

Daemon pressed a kiss to her daughter’s hand and he pulled out another arrow and helped her with the quiver. 

—

Jon fell onto the bed beside her, panting for breath from their mutual release.  Sansa curled into his side. His thumb brushed along her back as he closed his eyes and basked in the afterglow. 

“Rhaenys and I talked of Naerys’ betrothal to Daemon,” she said, tracing the lines of his chest with her finger. 

“He’s a good lad,” Jon said. “Even if there was no betrothal to speak of, I’d trust him with our daughter’s life. I’d trust him with your life.”

“We plan to wait to push for an official betrothal until the end of my brother’s visit.”

“Get the North and Dorne involved in the politics of it.”

“Exactly. Have you spoken much with your father?”

“We are currently at odds, so no. He was willing to plunge the country into rebellion for my mother alone. It annoys me that he can’t see that I would plunge this family into war if it meant protecting you and Naerys.” He looked at her. “Has my aunt approached you?”

“No, she has kept her distance.”

“Good.”

“I fear she has approached Naerys.”

Her husband stilled and his arm tightened around her. “I won’t let anyone touch our daughter.”

“I know.” She snuggled into her husband’s side. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jonsa is real! lol I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter!


	23. Daemon III

Mors was down for his nap as Daemon sat down with Naerys as she studied in the library. She was focusing on taxing policy, those of her Targaryen predecessors and the kings of the individual seven kingdoms prior to Aegon’s conquest, or at least what information she could find on the subject. 

“That’s the problem with burning things,” she muttered more to herself than to him. “You lose all that knowledge instead of, I don’t know, _learning._ ”

Daemon smiled as she continued to mutter and take notes. He knew she was trying to think of some way to relieve some of the tax burden of the smallfolk without enraging the lords, especially the Reach. He knew that it might be an impossible task, but she seemed to know it as well. However, she wanted to try. 

“I’m sorry you’re stuck with me,” Naerys said. 

Daemon looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“I know my father has asked you to look after me so Jaehaerys or my great aunt do not bother me.”

He smiled at her. “I don’t mind. I don’t want you to get hurt either.”

“My Aunt Daenerys did it by accident,” she said, flipping a page in her book. “Jaehaerys has pulled back a little as it is and I wonder if one of his parents have spoken to him. It would be his father, I think. My uncle has _some_ care for me, I believe.”

Daemon hated that she could not even be certain of this fact. “I don’t understand how anyone could know you and not care, Princess.”

She ignored him, but he could see a blush come across her cheeks. “You should read something to alleviate your boredum.” 

“I could never be bored with you,” he smirked. She promptly threw a crumpled sheet of parchment at his head and Daemon laughed, standing up to pick a random book off the shelf. He returned to the table with a dark blue book in his hands. He began to read it and found it to be a history, of sorts, of the North. The book spoke of something called _the Others_ and as Daemon continued to read the more curious he grew. 

“What are the Others, exactly?” Daemon asked her. 

She paused in her studies to glance at him. “It’s a Northern story. It’s supposedly why the Wall was built and was the cause for the Long Night. Northern parents usually tell stories about them to scare their children into behaving.”

“Did your mother tell you such tales?”

“I was well behaved enough to not really need them. But my cousin Brandon says my Aunt Arya told him those stories plenty of times.”

“Do you find them frightening? Just from the discription in this book, they sound terrorfying,”

“They’re the stuff of my nightmares, she admits. More than any human.”

—

“I challenge you to a sparring match.”

Daemon looked up and saw Jaehaerys standing over him. He glared at the Targaryen boy with disgust. How anyone could treat Naerys as he apparently had was beyond Daemon’s understanding and only made him angrier. 

“Fine,” Daemon said, standing up from sharpening his sword. “Shall we use live steel?”

“No live steel,” Prince Jon said firmly. “We don’t need to use it in a _spar_.” He glared at his nephew. “Isn’t that right, Jaehaerys?”

“Of course, Uncle,” he sneered. 

The two retrieved practice swords and readied themselves for the sparring match. Some of the other men and boys had paused in their own practice and training to circle them and watch the match unfold. It was not as though the two had kept their dislike of one another a secret. It was rather obvious that both sought after Naerys’ affection. 

“Begin,” Prince Jon said. 

Jaehaerys lunged first and Daemon parried the blow away from him. They traded blows with Daemon landing quite a few good ones and Jaehaerys giving a few sloppy ones. Daemon was merciless though. It was quite easy to be when he thought of Naerys bruises arms and blank expression whenever he cousin drew near her. 

How dare he touch her like that?

How dare he not treat her with the care that she deserved?

Daemon was able to force him down and held his practice sword to Jaehaerys’ chest. “Yield.”

“Never,” the prince spat. He knocked Daemon’s sword back and began to push back earnestly. He stood and gave blow after blow. 

Daemon could feel the prince’s anger rising as his swordplay began to grow sloppy. There was no finesse to it and it was obvious that he was going to lose the match once more. 

Suddenly, a blinding slight cane from one of the people watching and Daemon winced, covering his eyes. The light was gone and Jaehaerys’ sword came crashing down against his own. The force pushed Daemon to the ground. 

“Not so cocky now, are you?” the dragon sneered. “Yield.”

“You cheated,” Daemon growled. 

“Prove it.” Jaehaerys’ practice sword pressed into Daemon’s neck. 

“Jaehaerys!” Prince Jon shouted. 

Daemon let go of his practice sword. “I yeild.”

A few of the prince’s supporters whooped at his apparent win. Daemon, however, stormed from the training area, angry at the injustice of it all, but more worried of how this might affect Naerys. 

“Daemon!” He turned and saw Naerys running up behind him, her black skirt lifted ever so slightly that he could see her blue slippers as she ran along. His gaze returned to her face as she came to him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Naerys,” he said gently. “No worries.”

“It was awful,” she said. “I was watching from the balcony and could see that awful Waymar Tyrell using his mirror to cast the sun in your eyes.”

Ah, so that was the trick. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” she asked, butting a hand on his neck. 

“I’m sure, Princess.” He took her hand in his own and held it near his heart. “I’m sure.”

Her eyes widened as they focused on his neck. “You’re bruising!” she gasped. 

Before Daemon could repeat that he was fine, Naerys’ lips were upon his throat and he froze. All the blood in his body shot so quickly **_south_ ** that Daemon was about ready to pass out from lightheadedness. It had only been one second but it seemed like an eternity when Naerys pulled away. 

She looked up at him, her eyes wide as she realized what she had done. She turned bright red when she saw his own ashen expression. 

“I…”

“I believe you best go to Elia, Naerys,” he said, slightly strained as he began to cover himself with his hands. “I um… have to go finish—uh, do something.”

She blushed an even deeper crimson. “Of course.”

She curtsied and walked away  with a purpose, but very little grace  as Daemon made his way to somewhere very, _very_ private. 

—

Daemon tried very hard not to think of Naerys as he righted himself. He tried desperately to think of Alayna, of her laugh, her smile. Anything. But the smell of lavenders flooded his senses and her name spilled from his lips as though he were possessed. 

The two of them could not properly look at one another for the rest of the day. 

—

Daemon watched as Naerys continued in her studies. He watched as she mouthed out what she was reading or whatever thought she was processing. A strand of fire kissed hair slipped down the side of her face and she tucked it carefully behind her ear. 

Daemon smiled. He was falling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up. That’s for sure.
> 
> What did you guys think of Naerys and Daemon’s talk of the Others?  
> What did you think of the sparring match?  
> The KISS!!!!  
> Daemon had a little problem... hehehe!  
> Daemon has fallen people! Daemon has fallen!


	24. Aemon IV

Aemon stood amongst yellowish stones. Before him stood a wilting weirwood tree. It’s white bark was pale and it’s red leaves drooped, brushing the ground. He was surrounded by fire, the flames licking at the tree singing the bark and leaves. Seven cold stars shone above it and a different red star seemed to fall into the tree as blood began to seep from the roots. The tree began to shift and groan and the branches and roots turned to limbs. A pale girl with dull red hair was clutching her body as the white dress she wore was covered in blood. Her body was bruised. She looked so lost and alone as her gaze went to him. 

 _D–Aemon._ Her mouth moved but different words came out. She reached for him and Aemon pulled off his cloak to wrap it around her but froze as the blood disappeared and found her belly swollen. 

_D–Aemon!_

A sharp pain came from his back and chest and he shot up awake to find himself in camp. Aemon stood quickly and barely made it far enough away before he vomited the remains of his dinner. 

—

The she-wolf was staring at him curiously. She had not done so in many days. 

“Looks like you _mate_ is in Ghost’s Lady again,” Sam said with a laugh. 

“What do you mean by _mate_?” Torrhen asked. 

“Well, you know how Aemon sometimes gets that funny look in his eye and Ghost starts acting weird?”

“Yeah…?”

“That’s ‘cause he’s a warg. He can slip into Ghost and see through his eyes.”

“A skinchanger?” 

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Pretty sure that’s what you kneelers call it. I think our word sounds better though.”

Aemon rolled his eyes. 

“That’s still doesn’t explain the _mate_ bit,” Torrhen said with a huff. 

“There’s someone warning into the she-wolf right now. You can tell because her eyes are just a little different.”

Torrhen looked at the she-wolf. “And that’s Aemon’s wife?” The Stark boy turned to him. “Didn’t know you were married.”

“I’m not. Everyone just assumes I’ll steal the girl that wargs into the she-wolf.”

“That’s because you want to. She’s been in your head since you realized she was there,” his friend laughed. 

“This isn’t the time, Sam. The Others are coming.”

His friend just rolled his eyes before turning to the she-wolf. He whistled and Ghost’s lady turned to him. “That’s Aemon, lass,” Sam said, pointing to him. “Best remember that. He’s a bit of a fool so you better be stubborn about—and she’s gone.”

Aemon blushed. 

He wanted to find her. He wanted so desperately to find her. He had dreamed of her for so long. He knew Sam would laugh at him, but he would probably worship the ground the girl walked on. He had always been restless, his mother had said so, but perhaps she would settle him down. He could imagine it, at times. He would sit with his head in her lap as she ran her fingers through his hair and she would sing or he would tell her of the adventures he had that day. It would be peaceful. No Others to worry about. No threat to keep on guard. No fear that she would die in his arms. 

But what if she wasn’t like him. What if she thought he was only a dream? What if her heart belonged to someone else already?

Then he’d live with it.

No one had ever died of a broken heart. 

And Aemon had been alone for so long… he would be able to live with the memory of simply knowing her. 

—

“Have any Southerners actually come up to live beyond the Wall?” Torrhen asked. “I know some of your people have come to our side, but I can’t think of anyone going to yours.”

Aemon thought on it for a moment. It was true. More people headed south than north, but that was mainly because the Free Folk wanted to get as far away from the Others as possible. 

“The Red Witch,” Sam said. “I suppose she counts. But she says she’s not from the south.”

“She’s from Asshai,” Sam Tarly said. 

“Why do you call her a witch?” Lord Robb asked. 

“Because she is,” one of Aemon’s men said. “She’s damn frightful and I wish she’d go back to where she came from.”

Aemon had to agree. The woman was frightening for multiple reasons, one being she never aged. She had been around since Aemon was a boy, floating in and out of camp on a whim. She seemed to live beyond the Wall but she was never a part of them. His father tolerated her because she did not harm them or cause them any trouble, but Aemon knew his father was wary of the woman. He became more cautious when the Red Witch began to pay closer attention to Aemon. 

He could not remember it clearly, but she had come to them when Aemon was five. She had come to _him_ specifically. His parents never spoke of it, but plenty of the others did. The Red Witch has taken him by the chin and looked in his eyes. She had said something that none could understand.

_When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone._

None of them knew who Azor Ahai was and none of them wanted to know. While the Free Folk has never been bothered by dragons, they did not wish to wake them, even though Sam Tarly has assured all of them that the actual dragons had been dead for years. 

“What does she do?” Torrhen asked. 

“Stick our on her own,” Sam said. “Don’t know what she does out there. She usually comes to camp and tells us things she’s seen in the fire. Nothing important though. She always says what she sees won’t pass yet and most of us just try to ignore her.”

Aemon could remember asking the Red Witch why she looked into the flames. He might have been ten or so.

 _When I gaze into the flames,_ she had said. _I can see through stone and earth, and find the truth within men's souls. I can speak to kings long dead and children not yet born, and watch the years and seasons flicker past, until the end of days._

 _Are your fires never wrong?_ Aemon had asked. 

 _Never_ , she had said. _Though we priests are mortal and sometimes err, mistaking this must come for this may come._

He thought that had been a rather stupid way to say _I might actually be wrong but that’s my fault and you shouldn’t blame me._

The Red Witch had always haunted Aemon in his mind. She was frightening and seemed to look into his very soul at times, watching him as he grew, her never aging gaze remaining on him and him alone. 

 _I see a darkness in you_ , she had told him. 

 _What do you know of me besides what you see in the fires?_ he had asked brashly. He had little sleep that night due to dark dreams. Of a woman screaming for him and a babe crying. 

 _I know more than you know. There is a darkness in you_ , she continued. _You have a part to play. I pray to the Red God that you are up to the task._

Aemon did not care what her god hoped. All that mattered to him was that his people would be free of the Others. 

—

Aemon looked about the throne room, his gaze looking over all of it with a hunger he did not fully understand. It felt as though all the Free Folk could live comfortably in these walls. He tried not to be bitter over that fact. He had always known Southerners had it better than the lot of them and most of the Free Folk wouldn’t _want_ to live in a keep or castle.

Even so, his people sometimes froze in the night and, here, these people would never know the true coldness of the air that burned the lungs. 

Aemon was wearing some clothes that Lord Greywolf had given them. This was no weather to wear his furs. The others that had come with them from the Wall had changed as well. They all seemed uncomfortable in the southron heat. The only one who didn’t seem to mind was Sam Tarly, but he was from the South so it didn’t count. 

Aemon turned his attention to the king. So this was the man that plunged the South into war because of his cock. He wasn’t so grand or handsome now and Aemon could not think him ever so handsome that a woman would stay with him after her own father and brother died because of him. He was odd looking too, with his violet eyes. It looked unnatural. Most of the Targaryens looked unnatural. 

Their silver hair was strange, as was their slightly pinched faces. There was something uncomfortable about them. All but one of them seemed to look down upon them with half disinterest and half curiosity, giving him and his people brief glances.

Everyone’s gaze fell on Ghost and his lady, though. Aemon and his men had been allowed to keep their weapons and he had refused to let the direwolves to be by themselves and pointed out that it wasn’t wise to let them off by themselves. 

“Your grace,” Lord Robb bowed. The rest of the southerners did as well but the Free Folk did not. They were no kneelers. “It is an honor that you have allowed us an audience.”

“When my northernmost kingdom seeks an audience after over a decade of silence, one gets curious,” the king said, his gaze flickering once more to the direwolves. 

“It is quite dire news that forces us to this point, I assure you,” the Stark lord said. “Although, I will not deny that I am pleased to see my favorite sisters. The North has retained its beauty only because of my own mother, wife, and daughter.”

Aemon heard Torrhen grumble under his breath. 

“It’s good to see you, Robb,” a red headed woman said. She must be Lord Stark’s daughter. The one made to marry a dragon prince. 

“And you, my sweet sister. After this, we must catch up.”

The woman smiled and nodded her head. 

“You day the prince of the Wildlings is here,” the king said, interrupting the reunion. “Introduce him.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call him a prince. They call his father a king, but I think it’s more of an election?” Lord Robb turned to him and Aemon just shrugged. People assumed he’d take over for his father one day because he was raised to, but someone else could easily do it as well. 

The king sighed. “Bring him forward.”

He took a step forward. 

“This is—”

“Aemon.”

His gaze turned to look at where the voice came from. The others turned to look as well. She had been standing behind Lord Robb’s sister. The girl was younger than he was, but he could not tell by how many years. Her hair was braided into a rope that hung over her shoulder. It was kissed by fire. While Lord Robb’s, who Aemon supposed was her mother, had more coppery hair, this girl was truly kissed by flames. Her eyes were a deep stormy blue and her gaze was wide and directed at him. As though she recognized him. 

Ghost nudged him. 

“It’s you,” he breathed. 

“Shit,” he heard Sam Tarly mutter, but Aemon barely heard him. All he could do was stare at the girl who had haunted his dreams for nearly all his life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think of Aemon’s dream?  
> What did you think of the talk of Aemon’s “mate”?  
> What did you think of me popping Melisandre in there?  
> AEMON AND NAERYS HAVE NOW MET!  
> And Sam Tarly about to have an aneurysm.
> 
> Naerys Chapter next! The Rhaenys!


	25. Naerys IV

“It’s you.”

Naerys felt something in herself shift. Even so, she didn’t know what it was, nor did she have time to properly examine it. Her focus was entirely on the man before her, oblivious to anyone else around her. 

He was handsome, with a light tan that came from windburn and the cold. His raven hair was long and held back away from his face. He had a slight beard and mustache. His clothes were Southron, but Naerys could tell he was not comfortable in them. 

He was so handsome. 

How was this even possible? This man was the one of her dreams. She had not thought him to be real, yet here he stood before her with as much shock in his expression. Her heart ached. She blinked and tried to push the emotion down, focusing on the budding feelings for Daemon that had found a place in her heart since she first saw the Dornish prince. 

Suddenly, there was movement beside Aemon. 

One of the large wolves, a direwolf, with fur like her grandfather’s hair, a pale silvery grey, began to pad forward. Her family tensed and her father instinctively stood before her and her mother to protect them. However, Naerys put her hand on her father’s arm and went to meet the beast. 

She knew her. It was as though they shared a second skin. Naerys reached her hand out and heard her grandmother take in a sharp breath, but Naerys ignored that also. The direwolf’s nose pressed against the palm of her hand and the beast breathed in, taking in her scent before rubbing her face along Naerys’ hand. The princess raised her other hand and brought it to the beast’s jaw. The she-wolf raised her head and began to nuzzle Naerys’ face and licked at her cheek. 

Naerys smiled. “Hello, Lady.”

The name felt right. 

Something inside her felt complete as the wolf continued to nuzzle her. 

Her grandfather cleared his throat and Naerys stepped back, only a little embarrassed. She returned to her father’s side as Lady turned and padded back to Aemon’s, the white direwolf licking her jaw as she took her place next to her _mate._

Naerys blushed. 

“What is it you have come here for… Aemon?” her grandfather asked. 

“I have come to warn of a great threat that will affect both our people. A threat to all humanity. The army of the dead grows bigger by the day and once they have the numbers they want, they will try to make it past the Wall and into the North. From there they will come South. Their numbers growing with every person they kill.”

“The Others are a legend,” Naerys’ grandmother said. 

“I can assure you,” he said. “They’re not.”

Aemon motioned for one of his men to come forward with a box he held. It was moving slightly and Naerys wondered what creature it was. The man dumped the contents of the floor. Aunt Margaery screamed as a still moving hand fell from the box and began to move towards them. Aemon stepped on it before it could come any closer. 

“Fire, dragonglass, and Valyrian steel can kill the Others. I need your armies to join with my fathers to help defeat these monsters as well as access to the dragonglass in your keep called Dragonstone,” Aemon said, lifting his chin. “I also ask that you allow the elderly, the non-fighting women, and children from my people to come south of the Wall so that they might be safe.”

Naerys listened to his every word and she felt her stomach churn. She thought of her dreams. Aemon had been real. She shuddered. Of what he said was true, then so were the monsters, who had plagued her sleep since she was a little girl, were too.

—

When the audience was released, her parents pulled her aside. 

“How do you know that man?” her father asked, his eyes almost dark. 

“Jon,” her mother chided. “Please answer regardless of your father’s tone.”

Naerys didn’t know how to explain it. “He… I don’t really know him,” she admitted. “I’ve dreamed of him. Dreamed of his white wolf. I’d never seen the grey one before though. But she’s about at the height I remember seeing the other two. I always thought it was just a dream. A strange dream. My senses were always heightened and I felt so… free.” She blushed. It was a strange freedom, one she was never quite sure she wanted. 

Her mother’s eyes widened. “You’re a skinchanger.”

“A what?” her father asked. 

“I did not think they existed anymore. There are legends that the old Kings of Winter could slip into the skin of their direwolves when they once roamed the land free.”

“Is it safe?”

“I… I don’t know.” Her mother chewed her lip for a moment. “Perhaps the Wildlings know more, perhaps even that Aemon.”

“I’ll not have her alone with him,” her father said sternly. 

“I know it wouldn’t be proper, Father,” Naerys said gently. 

Her father sighed. “I simply worry for you, sweetling.”

Naerys smiled. “I know. But I am a woman grown to many and I know my duties and how my actions might affect others.”

Her father smiled sadly and pressed a kiss to her temple. He looked to his wife. “Is it safe to discuss it with anyone else?”

Her mother shook her head. “I don’t know. I fear what your father might think or do if he knew that Naerys had some control over a direwolf.”

Her father put an arm around Naerys and held her close. “Speak of it to no one, sweetling, not unless you trust them.”

“I know, Father.”

“And never be alone with Aemon,” her mother said. “I can see you share a sort of connection, only the gods know why, but you must be careful. Your grandfather may be beginning to hear our side when it comes to the betrothal to Jaehaerys.”

Naerys nodded. In truth, she felt that she could be happy with anyone, just as long as it was not Jaehaerys. She pushed back her thoughts of Aemon. For no matter how connected she was to him, he was a stranger she had thought was a dream until an hour ago. Daemon was safe. She could trust him to keep her safe. 

—

Naerys helped guide their guests to their rooms. Her uncle and cousin would be staying near her and her parents rooms, but the wildlings and the maester who had come with them would be staying in the guest wing of the keep.

“I hope they are to your liking,” she said to them. “I am sure they must be very different from what you are accustomed to.”

“Have you never traveled the roads, Fire Lady?” one of the men asked. He was a large man and Naerys felt quite small beside him.

“I have never really left King’s Landing,” she admitted. “Lord…”

“Just Sam,” the man said. “We don’t have family names really, not like you kneelers. We just get them.”

Naerys has no idea what that meant. “Alright… Sam. I hope the rooms are to your liking then.”

“You’ve never been North?” Aemon asked her. 

Naerys turned to look up at him and felt a blush creep across her cheeks as she looked to him. He was handsomer up close and Naerys felt so very… odd. There was a sort of hum between them as though they had known each other for all of Naerys’ life and yet this was their first meeting. She wanted to lean into him and trust him. 

She had felt something like this with Daemon. That sense that he could be trusted. 

“Never,” she replied. “As I’ve said, I’ve never left King’s Landing. My grandfather always wanted me close.”

And to keep the North, Riverlands, and Vale in line. She and her mother were not hostages, but bargaining chips. Chips that no longer wanted to play the game the hand made them. 

“Are the Others real?” She asked Aemon. “I… I only heard of them in stories.”

Aemon looked down at her. His eyes a storm grey that had the faintest hint of blue in them. _Want_. That’s what he was feeling. She could feel it coming off him like the scent of lemons and spice that came from Daemon. It was not as heated as the gaze the Dornish prince had given her when she had kissed his neck. 

Naerys blushed. 

“As real as you or I,” Aemon said gently, as though calming a child. “I wish that they weren’t. But I would not have met you if they were just a tale.”

“Princess.” Naerys turned and saw Daemon waiting for her. She had forgotten that he was even there. She was so cruel for that. Was this how her uncle was with her mother and Aunt Margaery. Or had her mother even crossed his mind.

Daemon offered Naerys his arm and she took it, wrapping one arm around it and then placing her other hand against his bicep. 

“I pray you all rest well,” she said before allowing Daemon to escort her to her rooms. She held onto him tightly, pressing her cheek against his shoulder.

—

Torrhen was strange to Naerys. They had never really exchanged letters although Brandon had always spoken highly of their cousin. Her Uncle Robb was even stranger. He was taller than her father, but something about them was similar. 

“A gift, for you, dear niece,” her uncle said, holding a small package. “It’s from your grandparent.”

Naerys looked down ar the gift and opened it carefully. She found a small journal with a grey leather cover and the Stark sigil embossed upon it. The direwolf was running along a stream with a trout swimming at its fear. There was a letter tucked into the cover and Naerys unfolded it and read its contents. 

_Dearest Naerys,_

_Although we have not met in person, your mother has written us often of your life and of your experiences in King’s Landing. It had come to our notice that the king has begun to speak of engagement. I know it is reasonous to say so, but I do not trust the king’s state of mind when it comes to marriage and betrothals._

_We hope you are able to sort the many thoughts you have and come to a decision on what_ you _want to to with the help of this journal. We trust that you will do what is right for yourself and your people._

_Whatever your decision may be, know that we will always stand behind you._

_Your grandparents,_

_Eddard and_

_Catelyn Stark_

—

She was sitting in the godswood, but it was not the one she had grown up praying to. This one was dying. 

A song whispered along the wind. 

_Dragon. Wolf. Dragon. Wolf._

A baby was crying and Naerys felt her heart race as she stood. 

_Mine. Mine. Ours._

She screamed as the roots of the tree began to wrap around her feet. 

The babe continued to cry. 

A girl. 

_Mine. Not his. His. Mine. Ours._

Something was calling her to the North. She was meant to do something. She screamed out for help. For who, she knew not. 

She knew not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I graduate today! Yay!!!!  
> Chapters are going to be on the shorter in for the next few days!


	26. Rhaenys I

Rhaenys worried about the apparent connection between Naerys and the wildling prince, Aemon. Worried about what this might mean for the alliance with Dorne and her cousin’s son’s heart.

“Have you spoken much with the wildling boy?” she asked as Naerys joined her and her daughter for tea. 

Naerys blushed. “Not much,” she said. “He is speaking with my father and grandfather about the Others.”

“He is pretty handsome,” Elia said, nudging her younger cousin. 

It only made Naerys blush more. 

As Rhaenys watched her niece stutter and blush, her mind went to Elia’s father. 

It had been a summer romance. He had come in from Essos to trade silks and fabric. Her Uncle Oberyn has become fascinated with him and his tales and brought him into their home. Rhaenys had fallen in love with his dark eyes and words of love that had been too sweet to be true. She had been a stupid girl then, still thinking that a man’s love would fix everything. Fixed her brother’s stupidity. Fix her father’s lack of interest. 

She should have known better, considering who her father was. 

He hadn’t approved of Rhaenys courting Fynn. Certainly hadn’t approved of her giving him her maidenhead. 

When she had fallen pregnant, she had been foolish enough to believe that he would be happy. Then he told her of his wife and son back in Essos and off he went, never to be seen again. She had Elia, so Rhaenys had no regrets. She had taken plenty of lovers but had made sure to never fall pregnant again. She didn’t want to ever suffer that heartbreak a second time. 

But that had been different.

Rhaenys was Dornish and was in a far different position than Naerys. 

It was natural to worry about her niece. She was in a precarious position with an outcome that could not be tolerated. She did not want Naerys to go through what she did. 

She had to protect Naerys from that. 

—

“What do you think of these Others?” she asked her mother as they rested in her solar. 

“I believe the wildlings are speaking the truth,” the old queen said. “The hand was proof enough, but if dragons were once real, why couldn’t these men of ice be real as well.”

“Does Father believe in the threat?”

“From what I can tell, he does.”

Rhaenys narrowed her eyes, taking in her mother’s expression. “That worries you?”

“I worry that this will make him believe in the prophecy of his. A part of me wonders if he’s always known that something was coming from the North and that’s why he ran away with Lyanna.” Her mother looked away. “He might try to push for the marriage between Jaehaerys and Naerys even more now. A dragon must have three heads.”

“I worry for that as well.” They were quiet for a moment. “Is Father going to try and legitimize Elia so she can be Jaehaerys’ second wife?”

“I fear that is his plan.”

“I wish the maester’s had never found that stupid book of prophecy.”

“As do I,” her mother said. “He claims that it will bring the family greatness, but all it seems to be destroying us instead.”

—

“What do you think of Aemon?” Rhaenys asked the Dornish prince. 

Daemon thought for a moment. “He seems to be a good man,” he admitted. “Natural leader and a good head on his shoulders. Doesn’t really understand Southron politics and that’s probably going to cause some problems. Naerys seems to have an interest in him. Has a connection. That wolf of his… I would almost say it’s hers now.”

“But…?”

“But I know Naerys. She will always put her duty before her heart.”

“How do you know?”

“Because of how she handled the Jaehaerys situation. She could have run to her father or mother and she could have started a civil war, but she remained quiet for the sake of peace.”

“And that worries you?”

“I know what it’s like to have to put your duty before your heart. Besides losing Alayna, it was the hardest thing I have ever experienced.” He looked at her. “I don’t want her heart to break, but I will be here for her and be the choice she might have to make. She might not have to make it if her parents have a son, but who knows if they will or when.”

Rhaenys nodded. “You truly love her, don’t you?”

Daemon smiled sadly. “More than I thought I would.”

—

“I have said this once already and perhaps a hundred times more,” she said, blocking her brother’s practice sword. She deflected it and went to the bucket to pull the ladle off water to her lips. “I do not agree with the marriage between your son and our niece.”

“My son is a good man, I love Naerys, but she’s too soft. Too much like her mother.”

Rhaenys scoffed. “You don’t know Sansa at all. You never really tried to. Naerys being like her mother is what this kingdom needs.”

“Jaehaerys would make a good king.”

“Queen’s consort,” Rhaenys said firmly. “Jaehaerys would maybe be a king in name, but that is all.” She looked to Aegon. “And you’re wrong, he would make a terrible king.”

 _The Mad King has been good once_ , Ser Barristan had once said. _But then he had found pleasure in fire._

 _I can’t let Naerys turn into my mother_ , Viserys had whispered one night in his solar, Arya’s arms around his neck as he cried. Her uncle’s shoulders were hunched over as he blamed himself for not being around to notice. _I can’t. I can’t._

“The throne should have been mine, anyway. Let us keep our house together. Our mother deserves to have a grandchild on the throne considering who Jon’s mother is.”

Rhaenys frowned. “Jon has as much say in what his parents did as our mother did and you know how guilty he feels about that. He never wanted to be king.”

“Then he should have let Father keep me as heir.”

“You nearly brought Westeros to another civil war! You insulted his cousin and dared to bring your wife here to act as though nothing happened!”

Aegon scowled. “I was meant to be king.”

“What have you done for Westeros? What have you done for Dorne? What have you done for our people?” She looked into her brother’s violet eyes. “Do you even consider yourself Dornish?”

Aegon sneered. “I am Aegon Targaryen of the blood of old Valyria and I will take what should have been mine. My son will be a true Targaryen kind. Of fire and blood, he will have it.”

Rhaenys had never felt so revolted. She wondered if she were the same as Viserys and had been away for too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapters recently! 
> 
> So, what did you think of Rhaenys’ POV?
> 
> Of her thinking about Aemon entering the game?  
> On Elia’s father?  
> Her talk with her mother?  
> Her talk with Daemon?  
> Her talk with Aegon?
> 
> Aegon’s talk about choosing his whiter heritage is a bit like my great grandmother who was biracial (half Cherokee) and was really proud at how white she looked.
> 
> Jon POV next


	27. Jon IV

Jon watched as his daughter spoke animatedly to the Dornish prince. He could hear some words as he approached and could tell it was about one of her projects. She was speaking with a wide smile across her lips and her cheeks a rosy pink as Prince Daemon listened too her with his full attention and in rapt interest. 

Jon smiled. 

While he believed his daughter was too young to think of betrothals, along one might suffice. Jon rather liked the Dornish prince. He was a good fighter and a good father. He also seemed to listen and watch carefully, already making him a better man than Jon for most of his marriage to Sansa. 

What’s more, it was smart politically. While Dorne supported Naerys and himself, he knew that there was some resentment over Aegon being taken out of the line of succession, although Rhaenys had told him privately that most agreed that Aegon was too much like their father and had feared he would do as their father did to Princess Elia. They were more supportive of Naerys, of course, especially since Princess Elia has taken the girl under her wing and it was already established that Jon’s niece would become Naerys’ closest advisor and confidant. 

Dorne would have more of a voice in Naerys’ council, especially if she married Daemon. 

It also helped that the boy’s father had been a Valeman from a very prominent family. Naerys and Daemon shared that as well. 

Jon knew that, should the time come for him to be king, there would be some changes to the Small Council. 

“Naerys,” he called. 

His daughter looked up at him and her smile turned sweet. She stood and Daemon both stood from their bench in the gardens. Her cousin, Torrhen, had taken up the duties as a chaperone for Naerys, although Jon was half convinced he merely wished to have a reason to speak with Elia, who was also serving as a chaperone. Daemon bowed while Naerys came forward to greet him, kissing him on the cheek. 

“Have you come to collect Prince Daemon for the Small Council meeting?” she asked. 

“I have,” he said. “However, I have come to tell you that I wish for you to come as well.”

Naerys’ eyes widened. “Truly?”

“You are to be queen one day, I should have always brought you with me.” He kissed the crown of her head. “From now on, I want you to accompany me to the gatherings.”

His daughter’s smile brightened and she threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Father!”

—

Jon did not particularly care for anyone on his father’s council save for Grand Maester Uther and Lord Varys. Both men had always been kind, especially towards Naerys, which always gave a person a rather good place in his books. 

Maester Uther had indulged the little princess wholeheartedly whenever she came to him with a pricked finger or a scraped knee. He always made her aware of how important her voice could be, especially when she was hurt. No doubt the man would be heartbroken to hear of the abuse she has suffered under Jaehaerys. 

Lord Varys had always had a great interest in Jon as he grew up, commenting that he looked like his Uncle Eddard and appeared to behave very similarly. He had shown great interest in Naerys when she was officially named Jon’s heir. He almost always had sweets in his pocket for the little princess and seemed rather protective of her when it came to her education, actually fighting against Jon’s mother’s insistence that Naerys be trained in weaponry. 

Jon held no love or care for the rest of the Small Council. 

His father’s hand, Jon Connington, was the ultimate yes-man. His father could do no wrong in Connington’s eyes and Jon almost loathed that he was named after him. He looked down upon Princess Elia and Jon’s mother. He disliked Rhaenys. It was no secret that he prefered Aegon since Aegon took after their father. He took interest in Jon but the prince held no interest in a man who referred to his mother as  _ that woman.  _

The Master is Coin, Martyn Lannister, was a quiet man who did everything he could to do right by the kingdoms, but Jon knew how hard he was pushing for Jaehaerys due to the boys attentions to Joanna Martell, a little Lannister just like her father and grandmother. While he was a good man, Jon knew he was trying to get some of the power the Lannisters lost in the rebellion back. 

The Master is Laws and Ships, Garlan and Mance Tyrell respectively, were firmly in Aegon’s pocket since their sister and daughter were married to them. Jon had tried to argue that Lord Manderly to get a Northman on the council, but his father had refused. Garlan had at least some wits about him and wasn’t publicaly pushing for a betrothal between Naerys and his nephew, but Mance Tyrell was an idiot.

Jon had some respect for Ser Arthur Dayne, the Lord Commander is the Kingsguard, he had since he was a boy. However, some of that had changed when he had spoken to Jon of allowing Jaehaerys’ betrothal to Naerys. 

The wildling prince, Robb, and the Night Watch maester, Samwell Tarly, were also in attendance. 

Aemon Steelsong’s eyes did not leave Naerys when she entered the room on Jon’s arm. He looked like a man who had never seen the moon before. His gaze was trained upon her, but his eyes did not take across her body as Jon had begun to notice his nephew doing. Instead, they stayed upon her face and it reminded Jon of how his Uncle Viserys looked at Arya when she did and did not notice. It felt intimate, yet there was no heat behind it, never viewing her as a conquest or a thing to possess. He showed no anger or jealousy when she was on Prince Daemon’s arm either. 

Samwell Tarly nudged the man and Aemon looked down to the map of Westeros. 

“I believe these talked may not be proper for a lady to hear,” Connington said. 

“My daughter is to be queen one day,” Jon said, turning a glare to his father’s Hand. “She has every right to be here.”

—

It was strange, rediscovering his wife’s body after all these years. It was just as he remembered it, but, at the same time, not at all. It felt strange being allowed to touch her and  _ knowing  _ she wanted him to touch her. Their couplings to have Naerys had been quick as he never wanted to overstay his welcome in her bed. The couplings after had been fueled on a high of blood and fire. He’d been so ashamed of those times, ashamed of how hard he had plundered into her when she had never asked for their marriage. 

But things were different now. 

Sansa was beneath him. Her breath was quick and high wit every slam of his hips into hers, as though she had barely enough time to breathe before the air was forced from her lungs. She breathed his name like a prayer, over and over in his ear. She was clawing after his back, trying to pull him closer. 

Gods. 

His control was slipping. With every drag of his cock inside her he was slipping further and further into a rut he wasn’t sure he could hold himself back from. 

“Don’t,” Sansa mewled. “Don’t hold back.”

A roar ripped from Jon’s throat as he began to pound into her. He needed absolution and he would find it between her thighs. He had already found it once against his tongue when he had her come apart against his mouth and fingers. 

“Sansa,” he growled as he continued to rut into her. “Sansa!”

“Yes! Jon! Jon!”

Her head fell back against her pillow and he could deal her flutter around him and her release. He came soon after. Jon thrust himself far inside her, as far as he could manage as his seed spilled inside her. He’d never… it was as though he was being drained. As though, if asked to stand, he would find no strength to do so. 

Jon collapsed atop her, his face buried in her neck. He settled over her, still connected at their hips and Jon would happily remain in her forever, even when soft. He didn’t doubt that with a few kisses from his wife he could harden inside her. 

Sansa’s fingers combed through his hair as he let his head rest next to hers, his lips against her cheek. 

“Am I crushing you?” he asked softly, shifting ever so slightly. 

Sansa wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him back to her. “No.” Her lips trailed along his jaw. “No.”

Even so, Jon turned them onto his back, but didn’t pull from her. She rested against his chest, her hand over his heart. He put his hand over hers and closed his eyes. Content. 

“Naerys was so happy when you took her to the council meeting,” Sansa whispered. 

Jon smiled. “She should have always been there. She should have always been to both councils.”

He felt Sansa’s lips form a smile against his chest. “She’ll make a good queen one day.”

“She will.”

“What do you think of that wildling boy?”

“He’s a good man from what I can tell. A natural leader, even if he doesn’t not appear to want to be.”

“Have you seen how he looks at Naerys”

“I have.”

“And?”

“She’s keeping herself closed off. She… Our daughter is like us before. She is quiet because she believes so strongly in her duty.”

Sansa snuggled into him. “What do you think she would do if we had a son?”

Jon closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”

—

Monsters.

Monsters of ice. 

Screaming.

_ Naerys.  _

His baby girl. 

_ Naerys.  _

No. She was too young. 

What would happen to—

_ Naerys.  _

A song played in the air

Leaves of red began to swirl about him. 

_ Naerys! _

Fire. 

Fire and blood. 

A roar echoed through his mind.  _ Mine! _

Jon shot up in his bed in a panic just as a knock came to his chamber door. He looked to Sansa, who slept peacefully next to him, her ivory skin glowing in the moonlight. 

He got up from his bed, pulling on his trousers along the way, tucking in his night shirt as well. 

“What?” he asked as he opened the door to find a kingsguard standing before him. 

“It’s the princess, your grace.”

Jon’s blood ran cold. He left his room and closed the door behind him. “What happened?”

“We saw her pass,” the guard said. “I sent Regar after her to keep her safe, but she did not answer us when she called to her. She was in her shift and in a trance.”

“Take me to her. Now!”

Jon followed the guard and quickly saw his daughter walking slowly down the hall. She looked like a ghost. The grey direwolf prowled around her, not letting the other guard or one of the servants near the girl. 

“Naerys!”

She did not answer. She did not even stop. 

Jon ram forward, the wolf letting him near his daughter. “Naerys,” he put his hand on her shoulder and she suddenly collapsed into his arms. “Naerys!”

Her eyes closed and her face scrunched up like her mother’s did when she woke up. Naerys’ eyes fluttered open slowly. She looked up to Jon, her gaze growing confused. “Father?”

Jon sighed in relief. “Naerys, are you alright?”

She looked about herself, straining slightly in his arms. “I can’t hear it anymore.”

“Hear what?”

“The godswood, Father. It was singing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon looking in on Daemon and Naerys’ relationship! Him wanting her in the Small Council meeting!  
> What did you think of Rhaegar’s Small Council?  
> Jon and Sansa!!! 😍😍😍  
> Jon had a dream and Naerys is gearing a song coming from the godswood! What could it mean?!


	28. Jaehaerys II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, be warned of Jae’s POV, he’s a warning within himself

  
by Lord_Wayne Isn’t it amazing!!!

He had been leaving Joanna’s chambers when he saw her. She looked beautiful against the grey stone of the castle, her porcelain skin flowed against the moonlight, her hair fluttering behind her like fire. She looked like a goddess of fire and blood, as though the family words had taken form in her lieth body. 

Jaehaerys grew hard at the sight of her. She wore only her shift and her curves were parley hiding as she continued to her destination. It was cold out and he could see the point of her breasts against the fabric of her shift. He wanted to take it into his mouth and suck and bite and bruise. 

The only thing that ruins the picture of her is the damned direwolf that was circling her, keeping everyone away from her. The fur on the wolf’s neck was raised, growing at any who drew near. 

Uncle Jon appeared, no doubt being called to look after his daughter. The beast let him through and his uncle barely touched Naerys when she collapsed and he called her name. 

He had not heard most of what she had said, but the spell, whatever it was, was broken. 

Jaehaerys left before anyone took notice of him, returning to Joanna’s rooms. She attempted to kiss him upon his return whispering how much he wanted her, but Jaehaerys forced her into her stomach. He did not even get in the bed to join her before he thrust into her. He held her by the hair and pulled, trying to get the image of Naerys from his mind. 

She had been beautiful, like fire reborn, like a goddess. The image had only been ruined by the wolf, the damned wolf that had come with the wildling. She was becoming too much like her mother. Too much like a Stark. 

She was a Targaryen. She was _his._

Naerys was his and she needed to learn, she needed to understand her place in all this. 

Joanna’s cries of pleasure brought him from his thoughts as he continued to slam into her. There was only slight relief in this, as though his body knew it and his heart longed for another. For another girl to take his cock, whose Valarian features were only enhanced by her hair of flames and eyes of the sky where their dragons used to rule. 

Could she not see that he was trying to make her a true Targaryen? A true Targaryen who embodied all that they were. Fire and blood.

They were dragons. 

He needed to teach her. He needed to make her understand.

“Naerys,” he growled in his release, rutting harder and harder, knowing Joanna had found no pleasure in this. “Naerys.”

Red hair in his hands like liquid fire. Ivory skin embellished with violet and brown. 

_“Naerys.”_

He closed his eyes and imagined her growing round with his babe. A true Targaryen. A true Targaryen to sit on the throne at least to being a new golden age for their family. It was their destiny. 

—

Jaehaerys joined his father in the Small Council meeting. They did not always attend as they usually had other things to attend to, but when Jaehaerys learned that Naerys would be taking part of them he knew he would never miss another meeting again. 

She was wearing a Dornish dress that day, a gift, no doubt, from their aunt Rhaenys. It was made of the most expensive black gossamer silk over a deep blue dress that left little to the imagination even though most of her body was covered. Her hair was still in her usual Northern braids and her lips were painted only slightly. If her hair was silver, Jaehaerys imagines that she would be the embodiment and one of Aegon the Conqueror’s wives. 

The Dornish bastard stood by her side. He was dressed in an embroidered red coat with gold trimmings, a gold shirt barely visible underneath. His curly hair hung against his cheeks as he looked down upon the map of Westeros. He truly looked like a Dornish man and Jaehaerys hated how close he was to Naerys and the ease at which she drew close to him, only a step away from her father. 

It made Jaehaerys’ blood boil to think a Dornish bastard thought he even deserved to be in her presence. Naerys deserved a silver prince, not a Dornish dog. Jaehaerys thanked the gods every day that he took after his father and grandfather and did not look one bit like her grandmother. 

Jaehaerys wasn’t the only one watching, however. 

The wildling leader had his eyes trained on Naerys as well. He was older than all of them by a few years. His features were rugged and wild. His grey eyes watched Naerys with such attention that Jaehaerys might akin it to worship. It was as though he could not believe that she stood before him. As though he had never imagined that he would be blessed with her presence. 

Jaehaerys hated him as well. 

At least the Dornish bastard had a proper name and house. The wildling came from nothing. 

“We’ve already begun shipments of dragonglass North,” his grandfather said. “Is there anything else you need?”

“Men,” the wildling said. “Men who actually know how to fight and need no training. Men who volunteer. A reluctant warrior will just be fodder for the dead.” There was a weariness in his voice. 

Jaehaerys has to hold back a growl as Naerys looked at him with such admiration. 

“We also need builders.” The wildling looked at the king. “I hear your father had a pyromancer. Do you still have one?”

This shocked everyone. “There are still a few who know of such art. Why?”

“While fire cannot kill a White Walker, they can kill wights.”

 _Fire cannot kill a dragon._ Jaehaerys did not know what to do with that thought. 

“And the difference?” Uncle Jon asked. 

“Wights are those who have been turned by White Walkers. You kill a White Walker, which can be killed with Valerian steel and dragonglass, whatever wights they had a hand in turning will fall as well. Even so, killing the wights will greatly reduce their numbers and animals.”

“Animals?” Jaehaerys’ father choked as he took a sip from his goblet. 

“They can turn animals too. Someone saw a bear a few times.”

“We should also move all non-combatants as far South as well can without displacing others,” Naerys spoke up. “If they can turn the dead then anyone who would be unable to protect themselves needs to get away from where the fighting will happen.” She looked to the wildling. “That includes your own people.”

“I shall think on it,” the king said. 

“We also need to create proper armor for the Southron armies. I noticed that my uncle’s armor was different from the armor here and asked Torrhen why that ways. He said they pad the armor with leather to keep out the cold. We don’t need our men to freeze. It’s why the North took so long to conquer before.”

 _Conquer_. Jaehaerys hated the word. They united the Seven Kingdoms. Their family didn’t conquer them. 

“And food,” Naerys turned to her Stark Uncle. “How well fortified are the glass gardens in the North?”

“Well enough,” Lord Robb said. “We have been saving grain for years as well.”

Naerys nodded. The Dornish bastard leaned over and whispered something in Naerys’ ear. She smiled. 

—

She was beneath him. Moaning softly into his ear as he thrust into her gently. He would be so gentle with her. So very gentle with his pretty wife. His pretty queen. Her hair was spread beneath him like a bed of fire. 

 _Mine,_ he growled. _You’re mine._

 _Yes,_ she mewled. _Yes!_

_Mine!_

_D–Aemon!_ she cried out. 

Something in him snapped. His skin began to crawl and fire began to run through his veins. How dare she.

How dare she!

 _Mine!_ he roared. 

Jaehaerys jerked awake in bed and knew it was too late to go to Joanna’s rooms or to one of the whorehouses in the city below. He took himself in hand and imagined what he would do to her. Her doing would be decorated with violet and brown and green. Her lip would be split from where he but her. Her hair would be a mess. Her lips would be swollen. Her eyes would be black. Her throat would wear a bruised necklace of his making so she could never call out another man’s name again. 

“Mine,” he snarled as he brought himself to release. “Mine.”

—

“You need to woo her,” his mother said. 

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” Jaehaerys snapped. “She is mine anyway, I shouldn’t have to woo her!”

His mother rolled her eyes. “Naerys is like her mother, she will want pretty things and pretty words to sway her.”

“I have given her pretty things and pretty words and she still finds the engagement abhorrent.”

Gods, he wanted her. He wanted her so badly. 

“Don’t worry,” his mother said, stroking his hair. “Your Aunt Daenerys and I are making a plan. Everything will fall into place soon and Naerys will be yours. As will the crown.”

He didn’t care about the crown. He wanted the Iron Throne. However, he’d _burn it all_ if it meant he could have Naerys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter made my skin crawl. That’s all I have to say about that. 
> 
> Aegon POV next.


	29. Aegon I

Aegon watched as his two nieces played with the other girl, Lyarra, in the gardens. Naerys was wearing a blindfold and reaching with her hands as she walked, the other girls calling to her and running away as she tried to tag them. Watching them, Aegon saw them as children, those brief moments of innocence that shone through their more calm demeanors when they thought no one was taking notice. 

Both of his nieces took after their mothers and maternal grandmothers. Elia was Dornish through and through with little Valyrian features, save for perhaps her cheekbones. Naerys took after her mother in her Tully looks, although her eye shape looked more like Jon, and her eyes occasionally had a lilac tone to them depending on the light. 

Naerys truly was her mother’s daughter. 

_ Key to the North _ , that’s what Aegon’s father had called Sansa when he informed Aegon of the betrothal. The North hadn’t been pleased with Aerys killing the previous Warden of the North and his heir. They hadn’t been pleased to learn that Queen Lyanna had gone willingly instead of being kidnapped. So, it had been Aegon’s responsibility to fix the miscalculation his father had made. 

It wasn’t that Aegon blamed his father for choosing Lyanna, someone who had more strength than Aegon’s own mother, but she had been a child, in truth, when his father had taken the queen and now she could bear no more children because of it. 

Even so, his father had forced him into a betrothal he hadn’t wanted. Sansa has been a sweet girl, but there was nothing but courtesy beneath her ivory skin. He had been as polite as he was raised to be, but he had not loved her, nor did he think he would ever love her. He had told his father privately that he did not wish to marry Sansa. He had even admitted that he wished to marry Margaery, that they had been in correspondence since the last time she had visited him. But his father had not listened. He had simply said it was Aegon’s duty. 

His father was a hypocrite in saying that, Aegon knew it full well. His father had abandoned his duty and still became king. He had abandoned his pact with Dorne and his father’s ruling to be with the Queen and yet he chose to subject his eldest son to the same duties he had betrayed. 

Aegon wondered if it was because his father preferred Jon. Their father had always preferred Jom. At first, Aegon had believed it had been because Jon had been born prematurely, that he worried for the little prince’s health. However, Aegon began to wonder if his father simply preferred the son that had no Dornish blood in him. Why else would his father rob Aegon of his birthright for doing something slightly less scandalous than he had all those years ago. 

It was an insult to Aegon and Margaery at hypocritical the king was. 

—

Aegon stood at the Southron part of the map of Westeros laid out before them. They listened to the wildling’s greater exploration of what needed to be done to help prepare the North for the war to come while Naerys and Varys spoke of how to get the smallfolk south without putting any more pressure on the economy in the south. Uncle Viserys was there as well speaking of the ships they could use to go North and to transport the large amount of dragonglass. Then there was the fact of all the smiths they needed. Currently, they were debating on if it would be better for the dragonglass weapons to be made and then sent or if it would be better for the stones to be sent North and then made. 

“What of the Children of the Forest?” Naerys asked suddenly. “If the Others are real, surely the Children are as well.”

“Children?” Daemon asked. 

“The Children is the Forest,” the wildling answered. “They are a man-like race that used to inhabit Westeros before the First Men came. They worshipped the old gods and we’re the ones to carve the faces into the weirwood trees. They started to lose ground when men began to cut down the weirwood trees. They haven’t been seen in centuries. They are probably long gone, the last forced to go to the true North, if any live, they might be Others now.”

“Why do you ask?” Jon put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. 

“I…” the girl blinked, as though coming from a fog. “I don’t know.”

They were all quiet for a moment before continuing. Aegon, did not contribute, but watched his niece as she appeared to try and piece together where her thought had come from. 

He had heard of her sleepwalking, most people in the keep had. They were all a little worried for her. She had never done anything like that for all that Aegon could remember. In fact, he could remember Jon once saying that Naerys could sleep like a stone. Yet, suddenly, she begins to sleep walk when the wildlings arrived. Something didn’t add up. 

Aegon closed his eyes as he continued to listen. 

Naerys  _ needed  _ to marry Jaehaerys. It would bring the family together and let a true Targaryen sit upon the Iron Throne. Jon might make a good king.  _ Might.  _ However, he wasn’t raised for it, not like Aegon was, hells, not even like Naerys was. However, no queen had ever ruled in her own right, not truly. They all ended in tragedy. Marrying Jaehaerys would let both sides win. Naerys needed a king, not a partner. It’s what was necessary. 

Aegon had to stop himself from rolling his eyes as his good father asked why he was not being asked for military advice. Aegon loved his wife, but his good father was an idiot and he couldn’t understand why his own father allowed for the man to be on the Small Council. 

—

Margaery laid next to him, their skin covered in the thinnest layer of sweat as they caught their breath. Aegon would never truly grow tired of his wife or her body. He had loved Margaery since he was a boy and had loved her since. He hated that he had been unable to make her his queen, but she was the queen of his heart and that was all he could offer her. 

“Sansa and Jon are trying for another child,” Margaery whispered. Aegon’s fingers froze in their pattern tracing on his wife’s back. 

“Oh?”

She nodded into his chest. “I heard Rhaenys talking about it. They’re trying for another one. Another…”

Aegon felt the tears begin to pool against his chest and he turned on his side to hold his wife to him more tightly. “Shhhh. It’s okay,” he stroked his wife’s hair as he held her close. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’m so sorry I was only able to give you Jaehaerys. I’m sorry I lost them.”

Aegon closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair, trying to keep the tears from spilling from his eyes. Three. They had lost three children before she had even truly begun to show. Only the maester knew. Only the maester knew of the three children they had lost before they had even made their presence known to the world. Not even his mother, Rhaenys, Jon, or his father knew. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry…”

“It’s not your fault,” Aegon whispered. “It’s not your fault.”

—

“Has there been any progress on the betrothal,” Aegon asked his father. 

“Your brother and his wife are still pushing against it. As are many others.”

“Why  _ are  _ you pushing for it?” Aegon asked. His father had told him shortly after Naerys was born that he hoped to have her and Jaehaerys marry. He had agreed since it would make his son the king, but now he was wondering, especially since he hadn’t apparently told Jon or Sansa until recently. 

“The dragon must have three heads,” his father said. “I thought the first two would be you and Rhaenys, then my Visenya, but it wasn’t to be. Now, now I realize that it was meant to be Jaehaerys, Naerys, and little Elia. They are the Song of Ice and Fire.”

“Is this one of your prophecies?” Aegon scoffed. 

“This isn’t just  _ a  _ prophecy, Aegon. It’s  _ the  _ prophecy. The prophecy that will bring glory to the Targaryens once more. Once more we shall be the light amongst the darkness and bring peace amongst Westeros. We were always meant to fight the Others. I have known it in my bones since I read of them as a boy. I have known it. Your son and nieces are what shall bring about a new golden age to Westeros, just as Aegon the Conqueror and his siblings did. The dragon must have three heads with your son to lead them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think of Aegon’s POV?  
> His thoughts on Sansa and Naerys?  
> The council meeting? Mentioning the Children of the Forest?  
> A little insight on Margaery and Aegon. I feel for Margaery in this chapter.  
> What did you think of Rhaegar’s obsession?
> 
> And, I’m going to be very candid with all of you. I’ve been a little discouraged recently when it comes to writing. My masters dissertation didn’t get as well received as I had hoped. I’m working on my PhD applications and plan on doing a romance novel for the creative portion of that dissertation and then I get a comment (I won’t tell you on which fic or where) that, because I am obviously a romance author, I have no idea what I’ve done based on the canon of the original story. It felt so degrading and it made me feel stupid, like apparently it made this person do a complete 180 on what they thought of me. Then there’s finding out that people think I should have cut back on the OCs in this fic and that I should “go back and reread my writing” as though I don’t understand it and that they skip over chapters with a certain character and hate a subplot I seem to be going towards when it’s actually part of the main plot.   
> Sometimes I feel like, with this fic specifically, I should just tell you guys how I planned on ending it and then start over with no Naerys or Aemon or Daemon as major characters and just as younger children (which would make Aemon a non entity, to be honest) and just focus on the Jonsa since that’s what so many of you come here for. It’s just... discouraging. I’ve been talking to one of my friends about it and she’s helped soooooo much, but even so. Maybe I should write a new fic anyway? I don’t know. It’s just... idk.  
> Writing is such an important part of my life. It’s how I communicate and how I relate to the world. I’ve had words and writing used against me before and it almost tore me apart and I spiraled into depression and thoughts of just... ending.   
> It’s why I try to comment back to everyone who comments, even if it’s just an emoji because it’s my way of saying that I care. So, when something is said in such a way and in a place where I can’t defend myself (I was able to for the romance author bit, but not the others), it just feels like my voice has been taken away. I want to be an author one day so I know I have to get used to it, but fanfic writing for me is for FUN. I’m having fun while messing with canon and writing my own story but then there are people out there who say I’m doing it wrong or that I should go back and look at my work when I’ve admitted here that sometimes characters have taken me by surprise and they become bigger than I meant for them to.   
> Sorry for the long rant, but it’s just been a really trying past few weeks and it’s been getting to me. I’ll keep posting regularly for this fic though. Don’t worry. 
> 
> I love you guys! Thank you for listening and reading and commenting! And thank you guys who have been nothing but encouraging and for engaging so well (a large majority of you) with this fic! I love you guys! ❤️


	30. Jon V

Jon listened as his wife murmured softly in her sleep. It was a slight hum, if anything. A soft note of content as the moon shone against her skin. She had some freckles across her back, like stars with limitless constellations. Absently, he began to trace them into unrepeated patterns with no rhyme or reason to them. 

Their lovemaking had been slow that night. A steady beat to their pounding hearts. It had been long, almost tortuous. A dance, in a way. 

Now Sansa was rested against his chest, the glow of the moon filtering in through their window, her skin glowing like marble as shadows from the curtains made waves across her skin. 

As she slept, Jon let his mind wander, although it was never far from her. 

Robb had confirmed Jon’s fears of how those further North viewed the Targaryens. They were not monsters, no they were worse. They were a family that seemed disinterested. Jon, Robb has admitted, was considered the better between himself and Aegon. Sansa better than Margaery. Naerys better than Jaehaerys. Rhaenys and Elia had been able to stay away from the politics of it all and Jon felt almost jealous because of it. He wasn’t made to rule like Sansa and Naerys were. He cared about his people, yes, and wanted what was best for them, but in the deepest corner of his heart, Jon did not think the Targaryens were that in any capacity. 

“I can hear you thinking,” his wife murmured. Sansa shifted and crossed her arms over his chest and rested her head there. She looked up at him and lifted her hand to caress his cheek, her fingers ran through his curls and he closed his eyes, pressing his against her touch. “What are you thinking of?”

He opened his grey eyes into her blue. “Rulership,” he sighed. “Sometimes I feel that Rhaenys had the right of it. Just leave and never look back.” He moved them back slightly so that he was sitting up and Sansa had her head against his chest and arm against his stomach. “We could go North or to Dorne.”

Sansa smiled against him. “Are you asking me to run away with you?”

“I suppose I am.”

“You know we can’t do that, Jon.”

“I know.”

“But it’s a good dream.”

“A beautiful dream.”

What would our life in Dorne be like?” she asked as they settled back down into bed. 

“We would go to the ocean every day. I would train merchant sons how to hold a sword and you and Naerys would sell your embroidery and make dresses for the merchant wives. Daemon would take our daughter to the capital and they would visit us weekly with a whole pack of grandchildren that we spoil rotten, but not so rotten that Naerys needs to chastise us.” He squeezed Sansa tightly. “And if we lived North?”

She hummed in thought. “We would live near my family and Naerys would get to meet and know her pack of cousins. I would show you the godswood of Winterfell and watch as you see snow for the first time.”

“I’ve seen snow,” Jon huffed. 

“Not a northern one,” she laughed. 

They were quiet for a long time. 

“A good dream,” Sansa whispered. 

“A beautiful dream,” Jon replied. 

—

“Hello, Mother,” Jon said as he sat down in her private solar. “How is Father?”

His mother’s smile was pained. “I would not know. We have not spoken in weeks.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “I cannot make him see reason. Even after what you told me about Jaehaerys’ behavior, he does not believe me. He does not think that boy has ever laid an unwanted hand on Naerys. Does not think that he has ever hurt her.” She looked out her window. “This was not the man I married.”

“It was, Mother,” he said gently, taking her hand in his. “Everyone knew Aerys’ dislike for Princess Elia and my siblings, Rhaenys specifically. Father  _ left  _ them when he took you to  _ Dorne _ , Mother.” Tears began to form in her eyes. “Mother?”

“He had wanted you to be a girl,” Lyanna whispered, her voice so small it reminded him of Naerys as a child when she would tell him of a bad dream. “When he had left to go fight Robert, he had said you would be a girl and we would name you Visenya.” A choked sob cake from her throat. “Gods, I have been blind.”

Jon stood quickly and knelt before his mother and took her hand in his. “Mother, what’s wrong?”

“He was so disappointed when he learned you were a boy but the maester said another babe might kill me.” She cupped his face in her hands and brought her forehead to his, pressing them together gently as a source of comfort. “He said the dragon must have three heads. I didn’t understand what he was speaking of, but…” Jon stood and held his mother as she continued to cry. “I heard him speak with Aegon. He… he always knew about the Others and said nothing. He said he thought his children would be like Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives reborn. He thinks it’s Jaehaerys, Naerys, and Elia now.”

“Mother—”

“My father and brother died for a stupid prophecy. For a stupid girl, with stupid dreams, who never learns.”

“Mother, you aren’t. You aren’t stupid.” Jon pulled away and bent down, taking hold of his mother’s shoulders. “Father is wrong, Mother. The Starks defeated the Others of legend when the Targaryens had yet to even make a small name for themselves.  _ We  _ are Starks, Mother, and it is not by Targaryen fire and blood that this enemy will be defeated.”

“The pack survives,” his mother whispered. 

“The pack survives.” Jon took a steadying breath. “We can’t allow Father’s plan to fall through. Back the engagement between Naerys and Daemon.”

“But—”

“He is no Robert Baratheon, Mother. If you would just see the way he looks at her, the way she is with his son. You would see it. He loves her mother, he loves her and would never take her right away as queen. That’s what we need. Not a man who is the next Aerys in the making.” He looked at her. “Will you support them?”

His mother nodded and Jon held her close. 

—

Jon watched as Daemon and the wildling prince sparred. Aemon was brutal, it was obvious that his approach was harder, hoping to wear out his opponent more quickly. There was no proper training that Jon could see, but rather a life lived with a sword in his hand. Daemon did his best against him, taking after his great uncle when it came to the use of his spear, something Aemon seemed to be unused to. They were evenly matched and Jon felt the tension between them like sparks in a fire stone. 

“Aemon’s one of their best fighters,” the Night Watch man, Samwell Tarly, said from beside Jon. “He’s viscous when he wants to be. His father is the same, even though they talk a lot of peace.”

Jon nodded. “A man who truly knows war does not enjoy waging it.”

Samwell blinked. “Who said that?”

“Me,” Jon replied. 

“That boy knows my daughter,” he looked at the Southron man who shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “How?”

“The wolves,” the man said. If Jon did not already know of his daughter’s earning abilities, he might have been confused. “They’re mated.”

“And so he expects my daughter to be his wife?” Jon questioned, his stomach twisting painfully. 

“My s… the man named after me likes to joke about it, as do the others. But I always imagined that it was some free folk girl he had yet to meet or some smallfolk woman.” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “I never imagined it would be a highborn woman, much less the princess.”

“Does he expect my daughter to marry him?”

“I’ve warned him against it,” Samwell said. “And he seems to understand. But… we’ll… he’s been waiting to meet her for most of his life.”

The connection between his daughter and the wildlife prince worried him. He wanted his daughter to be happy, but he worried about how someone might use the connection against his baby girl. He needed an official betrothal to Daemon or an official word from his father against the betrothal between Naerys and Jaehaerys. Jon was worried. He was worried and there was very little he could do. 

—

Jon awoke to banging on his door. 

“Your grace!” the panicked voice came. 

Sansa was up as well and Jon went to the door. “What?”

“It’s the princess. She’s sleepwalking again, the wolf. It… it almost but someone’s hand off for trying to approach her.”

Job rushed out of the room, Sansa following behind him the guards and servants were whispering loudly across the halls as they made their way to Naerys.

“How did she get so far away?!” Jon shouted. “The person guarding her thought he was called away to check something,” the guard replied, still panicked. 

“If anything has happened to my daughter—”

“Jon!”

He stopped at the sound of his wife’s voice and realized they were in the godswood. The wolf, Lady was sitting now, watching her mistress as she approached the heart tree. It’s leaves we’re a dull red and the wood was petrified. Sansa had told him she felt that the godswood of the Red Keep was dead. 

“Naerys!” Jon shouted, hoping to wake her from her haze, but nothing happened. 

His daughter reached for the heart tree, her fingers brushed against the lips of its face. 

The trees leaves began to shake as blood began to spill from the tree’s closed eyes. The ground a pattern of roots began to spread quickly beneath their feet, an icy blue flowed beneath them and began to spread. 

A whisper of a song began to rustle in the leaves as blood began to roar in Jon’s ears. It was only cut off by a blood curdling scream that came from his daughter. 

The glow was fine and the blood had dried, but Jon didn’t care. He and Sansa rushed towards their daughter and held her close. She stared up into the branches with glazed over eyes. 

“Naerys!” Sansa shouted. 

Their daughter blinked and her blue eyes gained focus. 

“Naerys,” Jon whispered.

She did not answer, but instead he’d up the arm that had touched the heart tree. A deep mark that almost looked like a bruised handprint was upon her arm. 

“He knows,” she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments on Friday! I love you guys sooo much!
> 
> More Jonsa sweetness.  
> Poor Lyanna realizing everything far too late.  
> Jon having some good fatherly and princely worries.  
> “Into the Unknown” anyone?
> 
> Arya gets another POV next. She’ll get a bit of action. 😘


	31. Arya II

She wanted lemon cakes. 

One of the worst parts of her pregnancy was the cravings in the late, late hours of the evening. It was so inconvenient, especially because she didn’t want to get out of bed. She was so very tired from making a baby after all and trying to navigate the hells that was the political landscape of King’s Landing. 

Arya squirmed against her husband, trying to wake him up to get him to fetch the lemon cakes they had set aside in the solar. Viserys’ arm tightened around her, his hand splaying across her bulging belly. His hips pressed against her backside and she could feel his arousal. She wasn’t sure if her husband was awake or not or simply unconsciously doing these things as his lips traced along the back of her neck. 

Arya wiggled her arm free and pinched his hand. 

Viserys jerked awake. “Woman!” he grumbled. He sighed and pressed his face into the back of her head. “There are better ways to wake me up, Arya.”

“Yes, but I’m too tired for that now.”

“Cravings?”

“Cravings.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of her ear. “I’ll be right back.”

Viserys was barely out of bed when they heard the scream. 

Arya’s blood went cold. 

A bright light seemed to glow outside and Arya went out of her bed and looked outside and saw a pattern of woven glowing blue stretching upon the ground as far as the eye could see and then suddenly, it was gone. 

“Stay here,” Viserys said urgently. 

“Viser—”

“Stay here, I’ll check it out!” He kissed her quick.

—

They all sat in Arya and Viserys’ solar. Rhaenys was the only one outside of the Starks in the room. Sansa was sitting next to Naerys, her arms wrapped around her daughter and Jon was on his knees, holding Naerys’ hand in his. The girl’s arm had a bruise as though someone had grabbed it and held on so tightly to the point of almost breaking it. The bruise was a dark color already. 

“What happened?” Jon asked. 

Everyone watched Naerys carefully. It wasn’t a well kept secret that she had been sleep walking recently, but now, whatever had just happened felt as though it changed everything. 

Naerys was quiet for a moment before she spoke. “I dreamed that I was in a forest, it felt as though I was in a large godswood, but it felt alive. It felt like it was breathing. Someone was singing and they were calling out to me.”

“Who?”

“Children,” Naerys whispered. “I think they were children, but their bodies were green and they had leaves. They were calling out to me and then Uncle Brandon—”

“Bran?” Arya interrupted. “What about Bran?” She didn’t think Naerys had even met Bran. 

“He was talking in riddles,” Naerys continued. “He told me I had to choose, wolf or dragon.” Tears began to spill from her nieces eyes. “And then I saw them. The dead. The Others. They were horrible. Their skin was blue and white like ice and their eyes were a piercing blue. But I just walked past them. They didn’t notice me at all and that’s when I saw  _ him. _ ”

“The Night King,” Viserys whispered next to Arya. 

“The Night King,” Naerys agreed. “I tried to get away but he grabbed me and suddenly the singing stopped and it just became screaming. It hurt so badly and then I found myself in our godswood.”

“We need to gather everyone,” Jon said. “We need to gather everyone now.”

“We need to breathe for a moment and let Naerys rest,” Viserys said. 

“Uncle—” 

“We have some time, but we need to calm down and Naerys needs to sleep. If you want her near by, let her stay in your rooms, I don’t like this, but we need to sleep and plan on how we tell this to the king. He… he might use this to his advantage.”

Everyone was silent for a moment. 

“You can’t be serious,” Rhaenys said. 

“I am. You know he might, especially with how he speaks of those damned prophecies. We should all rest and then break our fasts together to come up with some kind of plan. We all need to be united in this.”

Arya held her husband’s arm in one hand and cradled her belly with the other. She was worried. There was already an enemy marching from the far North, but with all the conflict in the south, Arya wondered if they’d truly be ready. 

—

Arya and Viserys barely slept. Another side effect of pregnancy was her near constant need for her husband when she was in a mood. Viserys commented that she was almost always in a mood, but he usually said it with his classic smirk and a small peck to her lips. 

She was riding him, too large to really have each other any other way. Viserys grunted underneath her, his hands flexing against her hips as he thrust up into her. 

“I’m worried,” Arya gasped. “I’m so worried.”

“It’s okay,” Viserys’ voice cracked as she shuddered around him. “It’s going to be okay.”

—

“We need to hide the mark for now,” Samwell Tarly said. 

“Do you know what it is?” Jon asked. 

The maester shook his head. “It’s a mark, not a bruise. But,” he looked to Naerys. “You said you’ve dreamed of the Night King before?”

The girl nodded. “I feel like it’s because you’re a Stark. The Starks and the Others have a longer history together, even if they were thought to be fairy tales for so long.” He looked to everyone that had come to Arya and Viserys’ solar to break their fast. “Whatever is coming, the princess will be important. She needs to be protected.”

“Will she be okay?” Sansa asked. 

“Just keep her safe, your grace,” the maester said. 

Arya held her sister’s trembling hand tightly. 

—

Arya and Robb spoke with Sansa privately. 

“Are you okay?” Their brother asked her, he put his arms around Sansa and held her close. 

The two had always been close as children, Robb always playing Sansa’s knight in games. He hadn’t been able to save her from coming South though. Arya knew Robb regretted that the most. He obviously loved his niece and was starting some sort of friendship with Jon, but that didn’t stop him from feeling guilt. Arya knew it in the way he had always asked after Sansa whenever she visited the North with Viserys and their children. 

“You didn’t see here,” Sansa whispered. “It was like she was in a trance. And just, this is all happening at once.”

Arya stepped forward and hugged her sister as much as she could. “How much does this change things?”

“Change things?” Robb asked. 

“You and Jon are trying for another babe, aren’t you?”

Sansa blushed. “We are, we want more in the time that we have, but…”

“You’re worries about Naerys,” Robb finished. 

“Naerys has been raised to be queen all her life, a true queen like Princess Elia, who loves her people and does her duty to them and the realm, but she’s being used as a pawn by her own family. She loves the Prince Daemon in her own way, and I know that some are worried about his bastard, but Mors is a sweet child and the prince doesn’t seem to be the sort of person to ignore the right of succession. Then there’s… she’s connected to the wildling boy, Aemon, as well.”

Robb frowned. “I know. He’s a good man, charismatic and people follow him because they believe in him. That might work in the North and beyond the Wall, but he needs more than that. We, those that traveled with him, have been telling him to back away, that he might put Naerys in danger if he makes his affection for her anymore public than it might already be. But the Free Folk are an emotional people, they don’t really hide their feelings like we sometimes do. He wants to protect her, so I think he won’t do anything, but even so…”

“I think Naerys cares for him too, they’re connected in a way that is beyond any real explaination. And with Jon and I, I’m just worried…”

“You’re worried that if you have a son and that will send the politics into absolute chaos when we all really need to be united?” Arya asked. 

Sansa nodded. “If I have a son, he’ll be Jon’s heir and the king after him. It would take the pressure off of Naerys, but I doubt the Tyrells would let it go and part of me fears that it wouldn’t stop the king either.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Robb said in a sure voice. 

“How do you know?” Arya asked. It all seemed so very far from being okay. 

“We’re Starks,” he said. “As long as we stick together, we have this handled.”

Arya and Sansa looked to each other. They hoped Robb was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m worried that I might not post Sunday. I’ve seen the spoilers for TROS and I’m heartbroken. It just hurts to think about because I really loved TLJ and I hoped they would continue to grow from this new material instead of reusing plot lines fro the OT, but apparently that was a wrong assumption since all JJ can do is rehash material already made instead of making something unique. Man, he wasn’t wrong when he said he can’t write endings. I’m seeing the movie tomorrow with my parents who are going in utterly clueless. This is going to wreck me. 
> 
> On the plus side I’m seeing Cats tonight and it’ll probably be mindless fun with the convoluted plot that changes from production to production. At least I have that.


	32. Daemon IV

“Rys!” Mors shrieked in Daemon’s arms. 

The Dornish prince stiffened at the sound exploding near his left ear as his son began to wiggle against him. Daemon looked at Naerys as a smile spread across her features as she looked at Mors. She picked up her skirts and walked a little more quickly to them. 

“Hello, sweetling,” she said, Mors reaching for her and climbing into her arms. Naerys pressed a kiss to his cheek and head and the boy giggled, wrapping his arms around her neck. “How I’ve missed you. Have you been behaving for the Septa?”

“No!” The boy giggled and pressed open mouthed kisses to the princess’ cheek causing her to laugh. 

“I’m almost certain the septa would quit if he weren’t so adorable,” Daemon said, stroking his son’s hair. 

“Who could stay mad at this face?” Naerys said kissing the top of his head and Mors’ smile grew as wide as a cats. The princess looked up at him. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to spend time with him lately.”

“You’ve been busy,” he said gently. 

“Sometimes I wish I weren’t,” she admitted. “But I enjoy it too. This… it’s just been a lot lately.”

“Owie,” Mors said. The two liked down and saw that he had pushed up Naerys’ sleave to reveal a hand shaped bruise on her arm. 

“I’m going to kill him,” Daemon growled. He took a step to turn away when Naerys grabbed his arm and stepped towards him. 

“It wasn’t Jaehaerys,” she said earnestly. 

“Bruises like that don’t just appear,” Daemon said, trying to keep his voice level. He didn’t want to frighten his son, but seeing Naerys hurt. 

“It didn’t come from nowhere, but it wasn’t from Jaehaerys.”

“Then where?” he asked softly. He stepped closer to her. Closer to her scent of lavender and just… her. “Then who?” He bowed his head and his curls spilled over and brushed against her temple. “I want to protect you.”

He could see a slight blush creep across her cheeks as she looked up at him. Her nose brushed against his own and bow Daemon wished to kiss her. To press his lips tenderly against his own. He wouldn’t claim her lips, no, she would claim his. 

“I got them from a dream,” she replied, her eyes a little dark and glancing down at his lips and then away. 

“A dream?”

“Of the Night King.”

Daemon narrowed his eyes. “The glowing earth.”

“He knows where I am.”

“What does he want with you?”

“I don’t know.”

Daemon reached out and wrapped his arm around her and his son, pulling them both to his chest. These two people in his arms. They were the most important. “I’ll protect you, I promise.”

Naerys pressed her forehead against his neck and held Mors closer to her. It had taken him some time to realize it, but she was showing affection like a dog did, like a wolf. She nuzzled at his throat and Daemon held her more tightly.

Daemon pressed his face into her hair. “I’ll protect you,” he said again softly. “I promise.” 

—

Daemon came across the wildling prince often. Whether it was around Naerys or not. He rather liked the brash attitude the man had around the royals. If anything, it was rather entertaining to see the king’s face as well as those on _that_ side to encounter a man who didn’t fall at their feet or find them all that impressive. 

Even so. He felt uncomfortable at times, as the large white wolf followed him. The grey one did not spend all her time with Naerys, disappearing often when Daemon or her parents were present, as though they were trusted to look after her. 

“Prince Daemon,” Aemon said politely. 

“I have never been sure if I should give you a title or not,” Daemon admitted. 

“I prefer not,” the wildling said. “No one else does. Not at home, anyway.”

“Do you miss the North?”

“It’s too hot here. I feel like I will melt.”

“But you enjoy the company.”

Aemon’s gaze snapped towards him. A blush rose up from the wildling’s neck to his cheeks. “Aye, I do.”

An ugly twist of Daemon’s stomach came. It was jealousy. He knew that. It was hard not to be jealous. The wildling man was taller than him and broad. He was classically Northern looking and his mother always joked that a girl always went for appearances she was used to. Aemon had an almost identical coloring to Prince Jon. He knew there was a connection between the two, Aemon and Naerys. As shown in their direwolves and they way they seemed to gravitate towards one another. 

Sometimes, Daemon wanted to wrap his arms around Naerys’ waist and ask for her to look at him and only him, but that would make him only a step better than Jaehaerys, a person whose level Daemon would never stoop. 

Naerys was not his. There was no official promise between them. His feelings for her were strong and almost apparent and her feelings towards him were less clear. She felt safe with him, he knew, and she cared for him and his son. But she was not his. She had made no claim towards him save for the time her lips pressed against his neck taking the pulse of his thundering heart. 

“They say she’s your mate,” Daemon said, remembering something that Torrhen had told Elia while Daemon was present. 

“She belongs to no one,” Aemon said quickly.

“She does not,” Daemon agreed. “She belongs to herself.” As does her heart and mind and soul. She is her own person. “But she belongs to the people too.”

Aemon nodded, his gaze turning to one of the hall’s windows. “I used to dream of her. Of a girl kissed by fire.”

“Do you still dream of her?”

“Aye.”

Daemon looked down. More worried than anything. This man had been thinking— _dreaming_ —of Naerys before she truly became a thought in Daemon’s mind. While that didn’t matter, it shouldn’t, it just meant that Aemon had Naerys is his thoughts for so long that they were connected in a way Daemon would never be able to understand. 

“What does she have to do with the Night King?”

“I don’t know,” the wildling admitted. 

Daemon frowned. He thought of the bruise on Naerys’ arm. It had to mean something. 

“Do all children with your blood look like you?” Aemon asked.

Daemon blinked at him. “Not always,” he said. “No.”

He thought of Prince Aegon. He and Daemon had the same amount of Dornish blood in them yet one looked Valyrian while Daemon looked Dornish through and through. 

“Why do you ask?”

The wildling prince just stared at him and said nothing. He nodded to himself and walked away, leaving Daemon alone in the hall. 

—

Daemon blocked Elia’s spear with his own. She’s ruthless and he always feels a little better knowing that she spends most of her time near Naerys. He trusted his cousin more than anything and he trusted Elia with Naerys. The two were thick as thieves in a lot of ways. 

“Alayna’s death anniversary is coming up.”

Daemon tenses in his block and he feels the rebound too harshly in his bones. “It is.”

“It’s the first time you won’t be able to visit her,” Elia said, her voice sympathetic. “The first time Mors won’t be taken to her.”

Daemon let Elia block his spear. It was still hard, living without Alayna. He knew his grandfather would never allow it. Some part of him had hoped that he would, but he hadn’t and Alayna was gone without him ever able to show just how much he had loved her. 

Alayna, his first love and the mother of his only son. 

His mind drifted to Naerys. Drifted to her smiles and her laughter. He wanted to protect her. Not just because he loved her. Oh, he loved her in a way that couldn’t fully explain. She loved his son and did not treat him like a political nuisance like Lady Cersei did her husband’s bastards. Naerys made him feel lighter, like some of the goodness he felt had died with Alayna was still there. 

She was like Daemon, in a way, full of kindness. It was not innocence, that was the wrong word. She was kind. Naerys the Kind, he could see that being what the people would call her one day. He wanted to protect that kindness, that goodness. 

Daemon thought of the wistfulness of Aemon’s gaze and the returned looks she gave the wildling prince. He could not protect her from heartache. It was the one thing he could not save her from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV next


	33. Sansa V

Sansa never sought out Margaery. The woman was never a friend, merely a name and a face when Sansa first came to the capital. Sansa had been an outsider. She had been a wolf amongst dragons and roses and spiders and vipers. Then, when Margaery and Aegon married, Sansa had even fewer reasons to get to know the woman who was now her good sister. 

Margaery was better than Daenerys. Her good aunt had never withheld her disdain save for when Jon was around. Margaery was polite and at least attended the women’s council with some interest. Although the interest was that of a woman who saw herself as a queen instead of a leader to the people. 

As Sansa never sought out Margaery, the Rose of King’s Landing never sought out Sansa. 

That is, until that day. 

Margaery linked her arm with Sansa’s just as the Northern princess left the godswood. She had been going since the life had appeared to return to it. It reminded her of Winterfell. 

“I have realized,” Margaery said, “that we have not spoken in such a long time.”

“I was unaware that we ever did,” Sansa replied calmly. 

The smile froze on Margaery’s lips as she continued. “Even so, we may be closer soon, you and I. We might even be sharing a grandchild soon.”

“I’m afraid you have been misinformed, my _lady_ ,” Sansa said gently. “Naerys is not to marry Jaehaerys and I have no other children yet and even then they will be too young for Jaehaerys to wed.”

“Come now, Sansa.” Her voice dripped with condescension, as though Sansa were a pretty bird that needed coaxing. “You cannot tell me that the match is obvious.”

“The match is not obvious,” Sansa replies sternly. 

“My son is—”

“Your son is not welcome anywhere near my daughter and if your husband had any love for Joanna, he would keep her away from Jaehaerys as well.”

Sansa could see the mask Margaery wore slip as her lips lifted slightly into a snarl. However, it was gone before Sansa could fully register it. 

“Jaehaerys has always been meant to be king.”

“Perhaps,” Sansa said. “Had Aegon followed his father’s decree, he might have been king. But the he might have been my son and perhaps I would not have spoiled him so.”

“He is meant to be king and Naerys his queen. Can’t you see, she will still be his queen.”

Sansa thought of the healing bruises on her daughter’s arm. She thought of the way Jaehaerys’ eyes raked across her daughter’s body as though she were some _thing_ to be conquered. “She would be his queen regardless. She doesn’t need him to be queen. Naerys is a queen in her own right.”

“My son—”

“Your son will never marry my daughter. He will never be king. You and Aegon made your choices and now you must live with them. He must live with them.” Sansa pulled her arm away. “I wish you good day, Margaery. I fear I am much to busy for pointless idol chatter.”

She turned and left Margaery alone in the hall. 

—

“You’re dismissed,” Sansa said kindly to the servant. The young girl curtsied and left Naerys’ rooms. Sansa stepped towards her daughter and picked up the brush the girl had been holding and took it into her own hand. She ran the brush through her daughter’s hair and continued to do so.

Her mother had done something similar when Sansa had been a child. Brushing her own daughter’s hair made her think of her mother, the mother she had not seen in years. The mother her own daughter had never met. 

The constant restriction on Naerys’ travels had never made sense to Sansa. Why should her daughter be forced to remain in King’s Landing? She had understood it at first. There were many who still hated the Targaryens and considering how close Elia and Rhaenys and Aegon has almost been murdered… Sansa shuddered. She could not imagine ever losing her daughter. She would die with her daughter. Parents were not meant to outlive their children. 

“Mother?”

“Hm?”

“You and Father are hoping for another child, aren’t you?”

Sansa paused her brushing. “We are, sweetling.” She looked at her daughter’s reflection and saw Naerys looking down at her lap. “Do you not wish for us to?”

“I don’t know,” her daughter said slowly. “I always wanted a sibling,” she admitted. “I used to dream of a sister that looked like Father, a sister that could be like Aunt Arya. I used to dream of a brother who would be king and protect me.” She worried her hands. “But as the years went by… I do not know how I feel about it. If you have a daughter, if I am to have a sister, nothing much shall change for me. But if you have a son… where does that leave me?”

“You would be free, free to marry who you wish and free from the crown.” Sansa paused. “Do you _want_ the crown?”

“It’s all I know, and yet I feel no true desire for it.” Naerys turned to Sansa, her eyes wide. “And what of Uncle Aegon and Aunt Daenerys. If it is a boy, they might still attempt to use him. He will be more of a target for plans and schemes more than I ever was.”

Sansa bent down and wrapped her arms around her daughter. “Then we shall pray to the gods that we are all protected. It will be okay, sweetling. It will be okay.”

—

“Lady Sansa,” Daenerys said curtly. 

“ _Princess_ Sansa,” Jeyne corrected through gritted teeth. It was moments like that where Sansa wondered if any Stark blood ran through her friend’s veins. She had more bite than her husband, Podrick, did, but both were fiercely protective of her and Naerys. They had always been and Jeyne especially so, considering she had chosen to stay by Sansa’s side in the South when she could have returned to Winterfell. 

The Targaryen princess’ lips curled into a smile, her teeth bared like a reptiles. “Of course, how foolish of me. _Princess_ Sansa, I was wondering if you might take a walk with me, I feel that there is something we should discuss.”

“Surely nothing you say would be so secretive that you cannot speak of it in front of my friend,” Sansa answered cooly. 

“Jon—”

“Has warned you of your words towards myself and my daughter, so I would tread carefully, Princess.”

Daenerys’ lips curled back further into a snarl. “If you would just do as you were told, none of this would have happened.”

“I fear you are placing the blame on the wrong shoulders,” Sansa said gently, as though talking to a child. “I have done my duty. I have done everything my king commands, the only thing I have not done is force my daughter to marry a man she does not respect or want.”

“Only a Targaryen can truly love another Targaryen,” Daenerys snarled. 

“Then my husband must not be a true Targaryen, for he loves me truly.”

Sansa felt sorry for the woman standing before her. Sorry that she was unable to let go and move forward. Even in her own heartache, Sansa had allowed herself the care of others and to care for others, her family, her daughter, even her husband at a more platonic level. However, the woman before her had clung to a hope until it crumbled between her fingers. Now, she was desperately trying to fit the dusted pieces back together again. Like all Targaryens, she had let it burn for too long until it was ashes upon the wind. 

Daenerys stepped closer to her and Sansa felt Jeyne stiffen beside her, but Sansa held her ground, lifting her chin, not letting the shorter woman frighten her. 

“You are _nothing._ You are destroying any chance of your daughter being able to be a true Targaryen queen.”

Sansa looked down into Daenerys’ violet eyes. “Then perhaps she will not be a Targaryen queen,” she said stepping forward so she was in Daenerys’ space. “Perhaps she will be _better._ ” She stepped back. “Good day, Princess.”

She guided Jeyne from that place and Sansa breathed deeply, pride swelling in her breast at how strong she had been in speaking her mind without Jon’s intefearence.

Jeyne was grinning from ear to ear as they went. 

—

“Mother,” Naerys said as she sat across from her mother for tea. Jon had begun to join them recently, but he was currently locked in yet another yelling match with the king against the betrothal of Naerys to Jaehaerys. 

“Yes, sweetling?”

“How did you come to know that you loved Father and not Uncle Aegon?”

Sansa blinked, startled by the question. “I…” she tried to form a coherent thought. “I don’t think I ever loved your uncle, not truly anyway. I had a duty to fulfill and I was ready to do so. I think I cared for your uncle more than anything.”

“And Father?”

“It happened slowly, very slowly. It seemed to happen at random, really. I think I realized it when you were eight or so, perhaps. You had drawn a picture for him, I think it was of him riding a dragon and you were so very nervous to give it to him and he picked you up and said he had never seen such a wonderful picture and had shown it to everyone that passed him that day with you in his arms.”

Naerys smiled at the memory, but the it stiffened and fell from her lips once more.

“What’s wrong, sweetling?”

“I… I find myself at a loss, Mother.”

Sansa nodded slowly, encouraging her daughter to continue. 

“I truly believe I am ready to approach a betrothal to Daemon. He is kind and gentle and brave. I like him, care for him. But I have not… well, I’ve never been in love before and I don’t…” She frowned, her gaze distant as she grasped for the right words. “Daemon has already tasted what love is like, and I do not fault him for it. Oh, Mother, if you could but see the way he is around Mors! He is so kind and gentle with him and Mors is such a sweet boy as well that I feel as though he were… But Daemon knows what that sort of love is and I am a novice.” She returned her gaze to Sansa. “I feel something for Aemon, but it is so different and yet it feels the same. But I hardly know him, I know him less than I do Daemon. I want to _know_ him better, but I am so afraid. What if my feelings for Aemon are love? Would it be fair to myself to discover such a thing only to let it go? Would it be unfair to Daemon? Aemon? I simply don’t know, Mother. Please, tell me what to do.”

Sansa thought for a moment and took her daughter’s hand in hers. “I trust your judgment, Naerys. If you want my honest opinion, I think it would be better for you to know than to wonder.” She squeezed her daughter’s hand. 

“But what if I ruin everything? What if I make a stupid decision? What if I—”

Sansa pressed a finger to her daughter’s lips. “It’s better to know.” Her daughter who had never been allowed the true freedom of childhood deserved to live just a little and experience the world in the safety of their keep. “It’s better to know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa not letting people walk over her this chapter and protecting her daughter with a good few choice words!  
> Sansa and Naerys mother/daughter times!  
> If anyone was wondering why Naerys wasn’t spending alone time with Aemon, this is why. However....
> 
> Naerys’ POV next and she will have quite a few alone moments with Aemon! 😘
> 
> Also, imagine a Once Upon a Time AU with these characters! Wouldn’t that be cool! I’ll probably never get around to writing it, but still!


	34. Naerys V

Naerys sat at her mirror as she finished setting her hair in place. It was a northern style, pulled back with a rose-like braid in the back of her head. Her mother had told her it was the style the Queens is Winter had once worn. She adjusted her dress as she stood. It was of Dornish make again. It was a deep Tully blue, and fell slightly off her shoulders, with a black corset that covered her stomach and upper part of her hips. Her breasts, while small, were still covered but it did not leave much to the imagination. 

Elia and Lyarra were with her, getting dressed for the ball as well. Lyarra wore a more Northern dress. It was a deep shade of purple, one of House Payne’s colors. The collar wrapped around her friend’s throat and her sleaves were long and flowed like water around her. Elia wore a Dornish outfit, although not an actual dress. She wore an orange top with a deep red belt wrapped around her waist. Instead of a skirt she wore pants that wrapped around her ankles but hung loosely, looking almost like a skirt save for when one took a closer look. 

“So,” Lyarra said, placing a pin in her hair. “I see Torrhen has been making some of his affections known.”

Naerys glanced at Elia, whose expression had remained stoic, but her cheeks had grown darker with a deep rose tint to them. 

“He’s just being polite,” Elia replied diplomatically. 

“Sure,” Lyarra said teasingly. 

“And what of Brandon?” Elia asked. “I thought I saw a kiss or two exchanged in a hall a few days ago.”

Lyarra was not as schooled in her expressions as Elia. Naerys’ younger friend pinched her lips together, her eyes wide, as her cheeks bloomed into a shade of bright pink. “As though you and Torrhen haven’t kissed.”

Elia stuck out her tongue. 

“I bet that’s how you looked before he kissed you,” Lyarra said. 

“Lyarra!” Naerys cried out, scandalized. 

Her friends glanced at each other and giggled. 

“Naerys,” Lyarra said, putting her arm around the princess’ shoulders. “It’s not as though you and Daemon haven’t kissed.”

Naerys looked away, blushing. 

“No!” Lyarra turned to Elia. “You need to speak with your cousin,” she said. “He hasn’t even kissed her yet.”

“What?!” Elia came up on the other side of Naerys. “Gods, you’re serious!” She blinked. “Wait. Do you not want to kiss him? Or him kiss you?”

Naerys looked at her hands. “I haven’t kissed him, technically.”

“What does that even mean?” Lyarra asked. 

“I… well, after that one time Jaehaerys cheated and beat Daemon in a spar, I… well, I kissed his neck.”

Her friends stared at her. 

“I left almost immediately. It was so embarrassing.” She covered her face in her hands. 

“Naerys,” Elia said gently. “Have you ever actually been kissed?”

She shook her head. She’d never been kissed or ever kissed anyone. The closest she had come was missing Daemon’s neck. His warm salty skin against her lips. She had been able to taste it when she pulled back. That was the most she had ever kissed anyone. 

“Do you want to be kissed?” Lyarra asked. 

“And by who?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? She thought of Daemon and Aemon simultaneously. She thought of them both, switching and pacing about her mind like wolves and snakes that circled closer and closer to her heart. She knew what her family would want. She knew what the gods seemed to want. She didn’t know what her heart wanted. 

All she knew was that she did not want Jaehaerys. She did not like the way he looked at her. The way he smelled her. The way his breath would fan against her lips and face like fire. That was not a kiss she wanted. She would never want it. And she feared it more than death itself. 

—

Aemon approached her slowly, his grey eyes studying her carefully as he drew close. Elia slipped her arm through Naerys’ and pulled her close. Naerys knee it was her cousin being protective. Very protective. 

“Naerys,” he said, barely nodding his head. Her uncle had told her that the Wildlings, Free Folk as they called themselves, did not kneel to any man or god or king. 

“Prince Aemon,” she said, giving him a curtsy. 

He watched her still. His gaze was staying to her face. “Just Aemon. I am no prince.”

“Do you need help?” Naerys asked. “It’s your first ball, is it not?”

“It is,” he replied, looking out amongst the dancing crowd. “The dances are strange.”

Elia snorted. “Don’t ever come to Dorne. You’ll probably find our parties even stranger.”

“Elia,” Naerys whispered, nudging her cousin. 

“Would you like to walk with me, Naerys? While I find this dance strange, I find the gardens stranger.”

A blush spread across her cheeks. Was he asking to walk with her alone? Unaccompanied?

“Naerys,” Elia warned gently. 

_ It’s better to know _ , her mother’s voice rang in her head. 

“I… I shall take you to the gardens then.”

“Naerys,” Elia hissed. She turned to Aemon. “One moment.” She pulled Naerys away from what she hoped was Aemon’s earshot. “You cannot be serious. He’s asking you to go alone. You  _ know  _ what his people are known for.”

“He won’t hurt me,” Naerys said gently. “He worries too much for the Others. Besides, Dornish men do not have the best reputation either, but no one thinks of it when Daemon and I are unaccompanied.”

“Naerys.”

“I don’t know my heart. Can… can I not be selfish for just a moment and see?

Elia frowned. “Fine. But I cannot guarantee you a lot of time before someone comes looking for you. It would be easier if your hair were not so noticeable.”

Naerys smiled. “Thank you.”

Her cousin rolled her eyes. “Run along. If you aren’t back when I think you should be, I’m sending Daemon.”

Naerys blushed and nodded. Elia let her go and Naerys went to Aemon, who offered her his arm. She took it carefully. He was… firm. 

—

Her heart beat wildly against her chest as she walked with Aemon around the nearby gardens. She was afraid, afraid of how fast her head beat, feeling it in her chest and against Aemon’s arm as she held onto it. Yet, a thrill ran up her spine as she stood close to him. He smelled like ice and forest. It was strange to sense him so near and so close. 

She was rambling, she knew, as she explained the gardens and her plans for glass gardens. She had to explain glass to him and told him how perhaps, once this was all over, she could send plans and materials to his people so they might be able to grow more food in the frigid North. He had listened to her and she could feel his gaze upon her. She has his full attention, as though there was no one else was in the world that mattered. 

She was rambling, but she did not know how to stop. If she stopped, she would have to think. She would have to acknowledge that she was not close enough to him. 

“Naerys,” he stopped them in a small alcove where they might not be disturbed.

She looked up to him and her breath caught in her throat. His face was so close as he seemed to memorize her features. She did the same. 

Hesitantly, she reached up and touched the scar just under his left eye. The second her hand made contact with his skin, he nuzzled his face into her palm, his facial hair scraping against her skin. His lips sliding against the heel.

It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t close enough. 

“Aemon—”

He pressed his forehead against hers and his nose brushed along hers. 

Naerys’ eyes widened and her heart all but stopped in her chest. 

“I dreamed of you,” he whispered, his voice restrained, as though it pained him to be so close to her and yet… “I dreamed of you for so long.”

“I dreamed of you too,” she whispered. 

His body shook as he exhaled.

Closer. She needed to be closer. 

“Aemon.”

He closed his eyes and pulled away from her and she felt empty and her world shifted again. Naerys grasped for him and pulled herself to him, her body flush against his. He opened his eyes to hers and she could see his hunger, but it did not frighten her. Not this. It sent a thrill up here spine as she then felt his lips press against the crown of her head. She gripped him harder.

Gods, if this was love, why had she given her a life where she could not choose it?

—

Aemon brought her back to the ball. He brought her back and she went into Daemon’s arms for a dance. 

“You’re trembling,” the Dornish prince whispered to her as they danced. “Are you alright?”

Naerys looked up to him. How little she had just thought of him. Yet, here she thought of him all the time. She was horrid. She was leading a man who had already lost love once. She was leading Mors on in her affection for him as well. She was no better than her grandfather. No better than her uncle. 

“Naerys,” Daemon lifted her face to match his gaze. “I do not fault you for your heart.”

It made it worse and Naerys wanted to cry, wished to cling to him but felt she had no right to. She had no right to seek Daemon’s strength or comfort. 

Daemon closed his eyes and Naerys thought he might push her away. Instead, he pulled her closer, pressing his hand to her back and letting her head rest against his shoulder. 

“I still love Alayna,” he whispered softly. Naerys gasped softly, letting air fill her stale lungs. She did not even know she had stopped breathing. “I probably always will.” He held her close. “But I love you as well,” his voice was gentle and she could feel a slight rumble in his chest. “I love you as well.”

Naerys closed her eyes and let herself feel comfort in his arms, even if she could not say the words back to him yet. 

—

Naerys dreamed of a babe in her arms. A small girl stretching as she yawned, her mouth open and perfect as she snuggled into Naerys’ chest. The babe had dark curls. Like Daemon. Tanned skin like Daemon. Her eyes were grey with flecks of blue like Aemon’s. 

_ Mine,  _ she thought.  _ Mine. Not theirs. His. Theirs. Mine. Ours.  _

Her daughter squirmed in her arms and snuggled closer to her breast. Naerys curled around her. She would not let  _ him  _ touch her. She would never be  _ his.  _ Not truly. And yet…

Tears began to stream down her cheeks as a roar of triumph shattered in silence as the sun eclipsed and a wolf howled, it’s lonely voice reaching to the blackened sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naerys and her girl friends! ❤️  
> Naerys and Aemon and Elia!  
> Semi-hit scene of Aemon and Naerys. You guys wanted a moment alone between them! Hehehe!  
> Her worry over Daemon and his feelings and he said he loves her!  
> ...  
> What do you guys think the dream means?
> 
> Rhaenys gets a POV next!


	35. Rhaenys II

Although Naerys still occasionally came to the women’s council, she was taking more of a role in the king’s council, and no one begrudged her for putting her focus there. Even so, she often came to Rhaenys, Sansa, or one of the Elia’s to bring some of their ideas to the king when they had to do with the upcoming war against the dead. 

Still, it felt odd to not have Naerys with them. She had been in the council meetings since she was a babe and it felt odd to everyone to not have her there. Even Margaery, when she bothered to come, commented on Naerys’ absence. 

The topic of the current meeting, however was too important to wait for a moment when Naerys was free to join. 

“We can’t send all the children to Sunspear,” her mother muttered as they looked down at the map. 

“But it would be safer if children and expectant mothers go as south as possible,” Sansa added. “They’re our future after all and it would be best if they get as far away from the conflict as possible. We would also be able to send word if we realize that all is lost and Dorne would be able to better prepare to evacuate or to make their defenses greater.”

Rhaenys scanned the map. “We should send the children to different coastal cities and spread them out. Perhaps we could decide where they go based on which other kingdom they’re from, do families can stay together.”

“They also need more food then,” Margaery added, she was useful occasionally. “While food needs to be sent North with the army, we should send enough food to Dorne so that the children or any of the people of Dorne don’t go hungry.”

They all nodded. 

“We would still need to send soldiers to escort the women and children,” Rhaenys’ daughter said. “We wouldn’t want anyone to hurt them as they travel. Even if we explain to the people what is going on, there will still be some men who might want to take advantage.” She glanced at Rhaenys. “Mother, is the king going to stay in King’s Landing, or is he going to go North?”

Rhaenys frowned. She hadn’t thought about what her father would do, honestly. It wasn’t wise for all the people in line for the throne to go North and take part of the battle, but Rhaenys knew her father would want Elia, Naerys, and Jaehaerys to go because of the three-headed dragon thing.

“I’m not sure, sweetling,” Rhaenys admitted. She glanced at Sansa. “If you find yourself pregnant before this all happens, Sansa, you’ll need to go South as well.”

Sansa looked up at her and nodded. “I know.”

“If we… if we don’t make it… your babe might become the last of the Targaryens.”

Sansa frowned and touched her flat stomach briefly. 

Rhaenys prayed it would never come to that. 

—

When they were children, Jon had always come to Rhaenys for things he was either too embarrassed to take to his parents or too worried to bother them about it. 

Rhaenys remembers plenty of nights where Jon would creep into Rhaenys’ rooms while a storm was crashing above them and slip under the covers at the foot of her bed. She usually had to drag him up so he was actually sleeping on a pillow. She had been on the smaller side herself and she didn’t have the strength or wakefulness to pick him up and move him more gently. 

She remembered plenty of his worries about Sansa and Rhaenys as well, too worried about being overbearing about bothering them in his letters as well. Her brother had been a complete idiot when it came to his wife and daughter for years. She had told him to simply ask and talk to them but he would stare at her as though she had grown two extra heads. At least now he was getting somewhere. 

Even so, old habits die hard, and Jon still came to her to discuss things with her. 

“I’m worried about Naerys,” he said when she had barely opened her door to let him into her solar. 

“Good afternoon to you as well,” Rhaenys said, rolling her eyes. 

“Yes,” Jon said, looking a little sheepish. “Sorry.”

Rhaenys motioned Jon to sit next to her on one of her lounging couches. “So,” she said once they sat. “You’re worried about Naerys.”

They all were. 

“I’m worried about all the pressure she's under. I don’t remember Father being like this with Aegon or me.”

Rhaenys sighed. “It’s because she’s a girl, Jon. She’s a moveable piece that can be easily played.”

“But—”

“It doesn’t matter that she’s going to be queen and should be in her own right. Father knows her marriage, whether it goes his way or not, is more important than he’s playing it off to be. He wants her to marry Jaehaerys because he thinks it will bring the Targaryens to their former glory. The Tyrells want more power. Almost every eligible bachelor or any noble lord with a son wants to get in her good graces in the hopes of catching her eye. It’s why she’s not allowed to travel.” She snorted. “They hypocrite. He doesn’t want her to see what she’s been missing.”

Jon pursed his lips. “I wish she could be free to do as her heart wishes. Whether that be Daemon or Aemon.”

“The gods really like to make fun of people with their choice of name don’t they?”

Jon smirked then frowned again. “She’s too much like her mother, and she’s too much like me. She’s too much like a wolf to really do as her heart wishes.” Jon closed his eyes. “I just want her to be happy, Rhaenys. After what I did to her, after being absent for so long and not defending her like I should have… she deserves to be happy.”

Rhaenys took Jon’s hand in her own and squeezed it. He squeezed it back. 

—

Rhaenys opened her door and sighed. It appeared that Stark men were to be the theme of her visitors that day. 

Robb Stark stood before her now.

“Princess,” he nodded. 

“Lord Stark.”

“Lord Stark is my father,” he said with a slight smile. “Just Robb is fine, were practically family after all.”

Rhaenys smiled in return. “Of course. As long as you call me Rhaenys. Come in.” She let him into her solar and she sat at a small table where she had begun drinking her tea. Robb joined her on the opposite side of the table. “I suppose this isn’t a social visit?”

“Not really,” he admitted. “Although I am certain you’re wonderful company when you wish to be.”

Rhaenys smirked. “I _can_ be a nightmare if I want to. But that’s besides the point. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Robb coughed nervously. “I am not sure if you are aware, but it appears that my son has… Well, he’s taken a liking to your daughter.”

Rhaenys smiled. She _had_ noticed. The poor boy looked as though Elia hung the sun with how brightly the boy’s cheeks burned. “And my daughter has taken some interest in him.”

Robb blinked. “She has?”

“My daughter is more discreet with her romantic attention. She’s much more open with her friends and family, but she’s learned to guard her heart around others. You’ve seen the pressure my father had put on Naerys. It isn’t so bad because Elia is a bastard, but my father has been trying to legitimize my daughter because she wants to recreate Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters.”

Robb’s lips formed a hard line. 

“My sentiments exactly.”

“So that is why you haven’t allowed your daughter to be legitimized?”

“Yes and no. Some foolish part of me had hoped her father would wish to claim her one day, but I stopped hoping for that years ago. And I refuse for my daughter to be a Blackfyre anyway.”

Robb nodded. 

“Back to the children.”

Rhaenys sighed. “With the dead coming to your doorstep, I can’t imagine romance is the thing we need to worry about.”

“We’re fighting for the future, whether that be our children or grandchildren.”

She frowned. “I suppose. However, the two barely know one another. It might be a temporary infatuation with someone they are attracted to but know will be gone soon.” Some part of her hoped that was what it was with Naerys and Aemon. There were too many factors that could go badly. “How do we know this is something to be pushed?”

“We don’t,” Robb admitted. “However, we can at least speak to them about it. See what they’re actually thinking.”

Rhaenys nodded. “It would be a match between Dorne and the North, Riverlands, and the Vale.”

“It would also put more clout towards a betrothal between Naerys and Daemon.”

“You don’t worry about her connection to Aemon?”

“He’s a smart man, but politics isn’t one of his strengths. The Free Folk chose his father as a leader and many assume he’ll be the next one. That doesn’t leave room for a Southron romance.”

“Have you spoken to him about it?”

“I’ve been trying to. I don’t want him to pressure Naerys. And, while I don’t know her well, I don’t want him to break her heart because he isn’t aware of the pressure he’s placing on her.”

Rhaenys nodded again before sighing. “We’re getting off topic.”

“That we are.”

“Elia and Torrhen.”

“Shall we just play it by ear, but keep an eye on them?”

“I think that will be for the best.”

—

“I don’t know what I should do, Aunt Rhaenys,” her niece admitted, fisting at her own skirts as she tried to hold back her tears. “My heart feels as though it is being torn in two.”

Her niece was sitting in the same place her father had been much earlier. However, Rhaenys had her arms wrapped around the girl, trying to distract her. 

“I feel as though I am betraying Daemon whenever I attempt to know and understand Aemon, even though there is no official betrothal. Aunt Rhaenys, he is barely a thought in my mind when I am with Aemon. It’s so horrible when I come for breath and I remember.” Tears began to drip down the girl’s nose and Rhaenys attempted to wipe them swayback “I feel like Grandfather or Uncle Aegon. Is this what they were like with Grandmother and Aunt Margaery? I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want to hurt Daemon as Princess Elia and Mother were hurt.”

“Oh, Naerys,” Rhaenys whispered gently. 

“And then when I am with Daemon, I do not think of Aemon. He has been so kind and respectful and it is as though our hearts are tied by a thread that might snap if we are to ever part. But when I am with Daemon… I can see it Aunt. The future is so clear with him. I can make plans and… I like what I see. I can see myself being _happy_. But then I see Aemon watching us. I feel his heart close and stutter as though it were in my own breast.” She buried her face in her hands. “My heart is being torn in two and I don’t know what to do.”

“Naerys, you’re still but a child. You don’t—”

“There is no time, Aunt Rhaenys. Grandfather, Uncle Aragon and Aunt Margaery, Aunt Daenerys, and Jaehaerys… they’re all waiting for me to mess up. They want me to make a fool of myself so that Grandfather can step in and force my hand.” She looked up to Rhaenys. “And Mother and Father are trying for another child, and I’m happy for them. I want a little brother or sister, maybe both, but who knows how long that will take. What if I am forced to choose and they have a son? What if I am forced into a decision, only for it not to matter?”

“Naerys,” Rhaenys took her niece’s face into her hands, brushing the flowing tears away with her thumb. “What matters right now is or you to be _happy._ While you will be queen one day, that isn’t for a while yet. You deserve to explore the world about you and experience what we all have without the pressure of the crown or the Targaryen name.” She kissed her on the forehead. “I’m sorry, sweetling, but you _will_ have to make a choice one day. But it doesn’t have to be for a while yet. You have time, sweet girl. Allow yourself to be simply a girl for just a moment longer. You are not alone, Naerys. You have more support than you might realize. Let yourself be happy and don’t overthink it. There is nothing wrong with loving more than one person. It just means you’re heart has a greater capacity for love than most.”

Rhaenys brought her niece into her arms and let the girl cry for just a bit longer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plans for the refugees.  
> Brother and sister moment with Jon and Rhaenys.  
> Elia x Torrhen romance anyone?  
> And poor Naerys needs all the hugs in the world. While she’s got the love triangle of most YA heroines, she also has all the pressure of the future queen and all the other stuff going on.
> 
> Robb gets a POV next and he will be talking to Aemon.


	36. Robb I

Robb day next to his sisters as they sat on the blanket set out for them in the gardens of the Red Keep. They had never really been able to do this in Winterfell, since the ground was almost always a little cold, but they could do it in King’s Landing. 

Sansa had been the one to suggest it, hoping that their family could all come together, without the spouses, their children playing about. It reminded Robb of he and Bran and Rickon. They would do something similar, they had since Rickon had finally gotten married. Robb paused that thought. He wasn’t sure if Rickon was actually legally married or not. He might have just stolen Sigrid. He wasn’t sure. 

Robb turned his attention to his son and saw him trying to convince Naerys to practice with a sword, but Robb’s oldest niece was having none of it. 

“You practice archery with Daemon,” Brandon commented. Gods he looked like his grandfather. 

Naerys turned as red as her hair. “That’s different.”

Torrhen scoffed. “Sure it is.”

Jenny and Little Sansa were sitting next to Naerys, working on flower crowns for everyone. The two girls just rolled their eyes at their older cousins as if they were stupid. 

“The girls really take after you, Arya,” Robb commented. “I just had flashbacks from those expressions alone.”

“Oh, sod off, Robb,” Arya said, punching him in the shoulder. 

“Ow!” He rubbed his arm. “That’s not fair! I can’t even retaliate because you’re pregnant!”

“You tickle me Robert Stark and I  _ will  _ go into labor and I  _ will  _ blame you for it.”

Sansa gave a soft laugh. “We wouldn’t want that. You still have a month to go. Less, maybe.”

“Little less,” Arya shrugged. Her hand rubbed her large belly. “I feel like a cow.”

“Does Viserys fell you that?”

“He says I look like the moon and I  _ know  _ he’s trying to be romantic, but I’m past the horny stage of pregnancy and just want to strangle him.”

Robb and Sansa laughed. 

He glanced at his red haired sister. It’s hard to believe how long it had been since he had last seen her. He could still remember her getting into the carriage that would take her and Arya South. Sansa had been nervous, but ready to do her duty. 

_ I’ll pull an Uncle Brandon, if they hurt you, _ he had told her. She had laughed as he hugged her.  _ I’m serious.  _

_ I know you are, _ she had pulled back from him and her eyes had been full of hope.  _ But maybe I could be happy there. Prince Aegon has been so very kind in his letters. Perhaps we might start out as friends, but Mother and Father started that way too.  _

She had been so full of hope then. Robb had been ready to storm King’s Landing and demand justice for his sister when he heard what Aegon had done. Then she had been married to Jon in nearly a blink of an eye. 

“Sometimes I wish we could go back to when we were children,” Sansa said, interrupting his thoughts. “I wouldn’t trade Naerys for anything or anyone, but sometimes I wish we could go back to the day before we left. When we were still innocent of the ways of the world.”

Robb took his sister’s hand in his. “Me too.”

“You’re a couple of sentimental idiots,” Arya muttered, although she took Sansa’s other hand and squeezed it. 

—

Robb had no idea why Jaehaerys was even in the small council meeting. He didn’t contribute anything but some well placed scowls aimed at Aemon or Prince Daemon. His father, Aegon, at least said some things to contribute. Robb could also feel the tension between Aegon and Jon. He knew it was over the continually rejected betrothal between Naerys and Jaehaerys, but Robb couldn’t understand why Aegon was pushing it. The man dared to reject his sister in the most public and humiliating way and had the gall to think his son was worthy of her daughter. 

Robb had plenty daydreams about strangling the Targaryen-looking prince. 

“The lady’s council—”

“Are not a part of the small council for a reason,” Jaehaerys said, cutting her off. 

Aemon scowled. 

“Let her speak,” Daemon growled. He turned back to Naerys. “Please continue, Princess.”

She smiled up at him before turning to everyone else. “The lady’s council has come up with an idea for the refugees. Women, children, and the elderly are to be relegated to Dorne along the coastal cities, as far from the conflict as they can possibly go. Since there would be many of them, they are divided by regions into different cities or parts of the coast. That way, should they need to; they can flee. The Reach would offer what they can, although much of the food needs to go North where the fighting is. People can’t fight if they’re starving to death and giving the Others more soldiers. Then, Princess Elia and Aunt Rhaenys suggested that we send builders to reinforce the Red Mountains so it might be harder for the Others to pass, should we fail to destroy them.”

Robb nodded along as his niece spoke, impressed by the ideas she put forth by the lady’s council. Robb personally thought it was foolish to not allow the women to take part in the planning since women would also be affected by the coming war, but he was glad that it gave Naerys a time to shine as the future queen of Westeros. 

“Are you suggesting we will fail, then?” Jaehaerys asked. 

Robb frowned. 

“I’m saying we should plan for the possibility,” Naerys said, a slight edge to her voice. “If we go into something thinking that we are going to win, we’ll get cocky and possibly make some grave mistakes. Our people and the future of Westeros depends on us. And I’m not talking about the future of this land we have called our home, I’m talking about the children who will tell our stories long after we are gone. It’s for them we fight for. It’s them we must think about when making our plans.”

Robb could see Jon grinning from ear to ear, proud of his daughter. Robb was proud of her too.

—

Getting the prince of the Free Folk to sit down and listen to him and Sam was ridiculously hard. It did not help that the boy spend so much of his time either training with other men or following Naerys around like a puppy. She had begun to spend some private time with him, although they were always within earshot of someone. 

He and Sam were able to finally sit the boy down and have a much needed discussion with him. 

“Do you know why we wished to speak?” Robb asked. 

“I’m assuming you’re going to tell me,” Aemon replied. 

Robb’s lips formed a tight line.

“This is serious, Aemon,” Sam warned. The man had known the prince since he was a wee babe and was the adopted father of the boy’s best friend. 

“I have no doubt it is.”

Robb sighed. “Moving on. What are your plans for Naerys?”

Aemon’s face remained impassive, but the tips of his ears turned pink as the only indication of his embarrassment. “I have no plans.”

Sam sighed. “Aemon, I know that isn’t true. You’ve been waiting for her since you first learned of your abilities with Ghost.”

The boy huffed. “I don’t deny it. I… she’s mine, but she isn’t. Not really. She’s her own person.”

Robb closed his eyes and it took everything in him not to slap the palm of his hand to his brow. This boy was truly far gone. “She is her own person, but what if you want more than she offers you?” Gods he didn’t want to think of his niece like this. “You understand that you can’t steal her, right.”

“I would never try to hurt her.”

“That’s all very well and good,” Sam said. “But you have to understand that stealing is a bad thing here.”

“I know that.”

“Good,” Robb sighed, hoping this conversation could end. 

“I just want to protect her. Is that so wrong?”

“It isn’t,” Sam said, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “But you have to understand that she’s a princess and has duties.”

“You all call me a prince, I’m well aware of the duties that come with it.”

Sam sighed. “It’s not the same, Aemon. The princess’ duties are far different from your own. And I’m not saying that because she’s a girl. She was born to be a princess. You’re choosing to be because your people have chosen you to be.”

Aemon narrowed his eyes at them. 

“She can fully belong to anyone,” Robb said, trying to figure out how to get the idea through to a person who thought kneeling was stupid. “She’s to be queen one day and must belong to her people. Her duty is to them and her family.” He felt bad for what he said next. “Neither of which are you.”

“She’s going to marry Daemon, isn’t he. I’ve seen it.”

Robb had no idea what that meant. “That’s what people hope, but Naerys has choices she can make. Daemon is a good option politically and he’s a good lad. Not that you aren’t, but… well… you can’t really offer her anything that the king would have to accept.”

“You kneelers make everything so complicated,” Aemon said, running his fingers through his hair.

“Aye,” Robb said. “We do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starklings unite!  
> No one likes Jaehaerys.  
> They try to speak with Aemon. Did it work?
> 
> Aemon gets a POV next with more Naerys x Aemon moments!


	37. Aemon V

Aemon sat at the window of his room, his back against the white column that opened out into the empty air and looked down upon the gardens below. He had never seen so much green, nor had he ever experienced such comfort. 

The rooms he had been given were spacious, much too spacious for one person. The bed was too soft and Aemon found himself prefer it to sleep on the ground with Ghost or even by the opened window. Even the floor felt too soft at times and Aemon wished he were allowed to sleep outside as he had grown used to doing all his life. King’s Landing felt too soft, too empty. There was a wrongness to it that Aemon could not place. Sam Tarly and Lord Robb and Torrhen didn’t seem to mind. Torrhen even commented that he wished he could just take his bed back to Winterfell with him. It was just too soft for Aemon. It was not his bed. It was the bed of some kneeler lord who didn’t know the harshness of life in the True North. 

The only physical thing Aemon cared for in the Red Keep was the gardens below him. He had never seen so much green. The flowers were numerous and below a tree with blossoms, the ground was covered in a pink petal snow. It was beautiful and Aemon has no idea that the world could be so colorful or so bright. The air was perfumed and it reminded Aemon of Naerys. He had yet to ask for the flower’s name, but she smelled of the violet ones that pointed up towards the sky. They didn’t look like any flower Aemon had ever seen, but he knew the scene was Naerys’. It was thick and he knew that he could not bury his face into her neck, but he could smell the flowers and close his eyes and imagine her pressed against him as she had been during the dance. 

Aemon opened his eyes, not realizing they had closed and looked out upon the occupants of the garden. He could see Naerys, her red hair long and free, as she played with Daemon’s son, Mors. He had yet to officially meet the boy. He had met him once when Naerys had been holding him. The boy had hidden his face in Naerys’ shoulder, gripping at her dress and hair. Mors has looked at him through long lashes but had quickly turned his head when Aemon had smiled for him, although he had heard a giggle come from the boy when he did so. 

It was good for a child to be cautious of strangers, he supposed. 

Aemon watched Naerys and the boy now as they played. Naerys was laughing, the sweet sound reached his ears and a smile played upon his lips. She gave the illusion of running from Mors as he gave chase to her. She would fake a small trip and bend to the ground for him to take her by the hand and they would switch. She would run after Mors, going more slowly than she truly could and only when he was about to fall did she sweep in and take him into her arms, showering kisses upon his cheeks. 

Mors looked like the child in his dreams. Aemon knew in his heart that the child was Naerys’. Daemon has said children with his heritage tended to look like himself and Mors, although, Aemon supposed that was not always true, based on Prince Aegon’s looks.

He hated himself a bit for it, but he imagines Naerys with a child that was his own and not Daemon’s. The child would have black hair and blue eyes like Naerys. Her skin would be as pale as starlight, with cheeks flushed pink with the cold. They both would be wearing furs from Aemon’s previous kills. Even wearing the clothes of the free folk, Naerys would still look like a princess, kissed by fire and blessed by all the gods for it.

Aemon could see their life together. They would find peace after the Others were defeated. They would return to the True North and they would build their lives together and every night they would tangle themselves together under their furs as the children slept peacefully on the other side of the tent with their own litter of direwolf pups curled next to them. 

He looked down at Naerys and dared to hope. 

—

They stood around the table once more, now speaking of battle strategy. A pyromancer had joined the meeting as well. Aemon shuddered at the idea of a man being able to manipulate or conjure fire. However, he knew it would be useful. 

Possibly one of the most irritating things about the meeting was that Jaehaerys offered some sound ideas on how to fight against the others. He asked if Aemon or Sam Tarly knew of the Wall could withstand wildfire and, if it could, would it be possible to pour the fire down the side of the wall or if it would be possible to mount canons of wildfire into the wights. He then spoke of the creation of canon balls of close to shattering dragon glass which might make more of an impact upon the dead. 

Aemon hated how good the ideas were, but he hated the smug look on the silver prince’s face even more. 

—

Aemon watched as Naerys turned to him, her lips parted into the brightest smile he had ever seen. It had taken a lot of strings pulled, but he had managed to get Naerys outside the walls of the Red Keep and onto the beach of King’s Landing. He had never experienced the ocean before and he could taste the salt against the air as it whipped about them, rustling Naerys’ hair and skirt. 

She slipped her shoes from her feet and went to the water, she raised her skirts ever so slightly, partially revealing her pale legs as she stepped into the sea. Naerys giggled and Aemon remembered how young she was, younger than him. 

“Aemon, it feels so wonderful!” she said, her eyes alight with pure joy. “You must try it!”

He sat down and pulled his boots from his feet and rolled up his trousers. The water was cold when he waded in, but not as cold as any lake he had felt in the True North. Aemon smiled as he watched her bend down to pick up strange rocks that reminded Aemon of snail shells, but shaped differently. 

Aemon was unused to walking in water and when he tried to get closer to her, he sent a wave towards her, splashing her dress with the water. Naerys shrieked at the cold. Just as Aemon was about to apologize, she bent down and slashed water in his face. Aemon froze for a second before he laughed and splashed her back. Their water fight barely lasted a minute before both were utterly soaked. Naerys stepped towards him, ready to splash him again when he saw her slipping. 

Aemon grabbed Naerys gently by the arms and pulled her up to him until she was flush against his chest. Her dress was soaked and cling to her body, as did her hair. He could feel the heat of her against him and he felt his blood run hot with want. She looked up at him, her eyes dark. She didn’t look as though she fully understood the desire within her. Aemon bent his head and his nose brushed against hers. He pressed his forehead to hers and began to muzzle against her. He wanted… he needed…

A soft noise came from the back of her throat and Aemon knew she could feel his want for her.

He cupped her face in his hands and she put her hands against his chest, pressing her nose against his, her breath fanning against his face. 

“Aemon…” her voice was barely a whisper. “We sh—” Her words stopped as Aemon buried his face in her neck, his lips pressing against the pulse of her heart. Her fingers tightened against his shirt and Aemon used all of his self-control to keep himself from putting his hand on her hip and pressing more fervently into her. “Aemon…”

He pulled away and looked down at her. “Beyond the Wall, I would show you the wonders of it. I would dress you in the best furs and build you the best tent.” His dream for them began to spill from his lips and he found that he could not stop. Even as her expression saddened, he could not stop himself. “Our children would be free of all this and I would love you under the stars and the moon and the sun.”

“Aemon,” she whispered, her voice wavering and he could see tears beginning to catch against her lashes. “I might not even be allowed near the Wall.”

“Then perhaps I could just steal you away,” he whispered, almost pleading as he nuzzled his nose against her once more. 

“Steal?” she asked, pushing herself away only slightly so that he had to look at her again. 

“Aye,” he said. “Steal. It’s what the free folk do when they want a wife.”

“And have you,” she asked. “Have you stolen someone before?”

“No,” he whispered. “For I have only ever loved you, even before I knew your name.”

“I belong here, Aemon.” She bent her head and buried her face in his chest. “I know nothing else.”

Aemon closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her. “The gods made me for you and you for me,” he said gently. 

“But the gods are cruel.”

“Aye,” he replied. “They are.”

—

“Wildling!”

Aemon turned to see the dreadful Targaryen boy coming up behind him. He was used to most of the people from the humid place to get his people’s name wrong, but he usually let it go. However, hearing the word on the silver-haired prince’s tongue made it sound all the more horrible. Aemon was not wild. He was free. 

“Do you need something?” He understood enough courtesies to know that most still bowed to the prince, although he was not in line for any throne. Aemon, however, was no kneeler. 

“I heard you are good with the sword, able to match Prince Daemon quite evenly.”

It was true. Whenever he sparred with the Dornishman, they tied, usually ending in a draw or one or the other coming out only slightly more victorious over the other. “So?”

“Spar with me.”

“And why should I spar with you?” Aemon asked. 

“I have heated Prince Daemon already. Would it not be wise to beat my betrothed’s other suitor?”

Aemon froze. “Your what?”

“Naerys,” Jaehaerys replied, his lips widening into a cruel white smile. “Our grandfather wishes for us to marry. Has no one told you?”

If they had, Aemon had forgotten it entirely. Instead, he thought of the way Naerys skirted away from her cousin when she could, of the way Daemon carefully maneuvered her away and how she pressed herself to the Dornishman whenever her cousin passed. She feared her cousin and Aemon felt his blood begin to boil. 

The prince continued to smile. “Although her parents are against it, no one can say no to the king for long.” He stepped towards Aemon. “I want to see if I can defeat the wildling that’s held Naerys’ interest. Show her what a true man is like in battle before I show her what a real man is like in bed.”

Aemon grabbed Jaehaerys by the collar. “Don’t you dare touch her,” Aemon growled. The courtyard grew silent and the only other noise was Ghost growling. 

“That’s not up to you,” Jaehaerys sneered, although his face remained utterly calm. “Is it? You’ll be gone soon enough and perhaps we can find a way to send Prince Daemon back to Dorne.” He smiled, as though Aemon were a friend and pat the hand that held him up. “The only one Naerys will have left is me.”

Aemon’s free hand curled into a fist, but Sam stopped it before anything could come from it. 

“Let him go, Aemon,” his friend said. “He’s not worth it.”

Aemon let the dragon prince go. He might not be worth it, but Naerys was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aemon watching Naerys and Mors and imagining his life with her 😭  
> Jaehaerys being useful 😩  
> Aemon and Naerys have a moment 😍🥴  
> And Jaehaerys is a git!
> 
> Can you guys guess what the plan is? I’ve left some hints in this chapter!
> 
> Lyarra gets a POV next!


	38. Lyarra II

Brandon had her boxed in against the wall of one of the many passageways in the Red Keep. He didn’t have his hands on her, more for both their benefit than anything else should someone come around the corner and spot them. Elia had once come upon them with his hands practically ripping through her skirts, although he has never touched her bare legs before. 

Now, his forearms were braced against them walk by her head as her own hands were cupping his face. She loved feeling the muscles of his jaw work as he explored her mouth with his tongue. 

They’d only recently begun going that far, maybe in the last month or so. Before they had shared sweet kisses in abandoned corners of the Keep with the occasional brush of hands against her hip and his chest. But this… She clenched her thighs together as a low moan cake from the back of his throat. Lyarra slid her hands up his face and buried her fingers into his dark hair.

Brandon pulled his mouth only slightly from hers and began his descent down her neck. With one hand, he pulled down the long collar of her dress and exposed the tanned column of her throat and began to suck. 

Lyarra whined and pulled him as close as she could possibly bring him. 

“Brandon…” she whispered, a slight mewl in her voice as he let his tongue run against the forming mark. 

“Bran!” A shriek echoed down the hallway. 

He stiffened, pulling his lips from her neck and letting his forehead fall against her shoulder. “Shit.”

He pushed himself off the wall and they both began to straighten themselves out, just as the oldest of his two sisters, Jenny, came running around the corner, little Sansa following behind her. 

“Bran!” Jenny screeched. 

He got on his knees and the two girls ran to him. He picked them both up and shifted them to opposite hips. “Hey girls,” he said, before mouthing an apology to Lyarra. “Did you need something?”

“Mother said you needed to stop eating Lyarra’s face,” Jenny said in disgust. 

“Rescue Lyarra!” Sansa said proudly. 

Lyarra turned bright red at Jenny’s words, but felt like there had at least been good intentions in their interruptions. 

“Is there anything else you wanted?” Brandon asked with a sigh. 

“Mother says you and Father have to actually talk to Ser Podrick before you can eat Lyarra,” Jenny’s voice kept its disgust. 

Lyarra chewed her lip and glanced at Brandon through her lashes. 

“Plan on it,” he said, the tips of his ears turning bright red. 

“I better go check on Naerys,” Lyarra said. “Elia and I keep switching off on who needs to look after her.” She went to kiss his cheek, but he turned his head just so her lips brushed against his. 

“I’ll see you at supper?” he asked. 

Lyarra smiled. “Of course.”

—

Her father pressed a kiss to Lyarra’s brow as he finished readying for the day. She always broke her fast with her parents, even when they were not the only ones in their solar or if they were in someone else’s. 

“Have to keep an eye on the princes,” her father muttered. “They’re… well, we almost had a fight break out yesterday.”

“Really?” Her mother’s eyes widened. 

“Aemon nearly punched Jaehaerys in the face.” He shrugged. “I honestly wouldn’t have stopped him, but I’m glad someone did, I’d probably get in trouble for it. Last thing I need is for Margaery Tyrell to try and get me sent off on some bogus assignment.”

“What was the fight over?” Lyarra asked. 

“The Princess is my best guess, even if I didn’t hear what they were saying.”

Lyarra chewed her lip as her father kissed the top of her head again and then went to kiss her mother on the lips. 

“See you tonight,” he whispered. 

“I’ll be waiting,” her mother said with a smirk. 

Lyarra made a face as her father left their rooms. 

“Mother?”

“Yes, sweetling?”

“You have known Princess Sansa for years, right?”

“Since we were little girls,” her mother nodded. “I don’t remember a time in my life where I did not know Sansa. Why do you ask?”

“You helped the princess through her coming south and the whole Prince Aegon and Prince Jon thing. And… well…”

“You want to know how to be a friend to Naerys as she’s trying to navigate the chaos of the Red Keep’s politics?”

“Yes,” Lyarra nodded. “She’s so very confused, Mother. Her mind is going everywhere at once and yet it’s spinning in circles. And then there’s Jaehaerys—” How could she have possibly missed the bruises?

Her mother reached out and took her hand. “Naerys is rather good at keeping her pain hidden when she thinks she can protect someone. It’s not your fault for not noticing.”

Lyarra gave a curt nod, although it didn’t quite sit right. She  _ should  _ have noticed it sooner. She thanks the old and new gods every day for Prince Daemon noticing. 

“How can I be a friend to her when she doesn’t tell me everything?” Lyarra asked. 

“By simply being a friend,” her mother said gently. “Even with the crown to come upon her head and all the House names and all the obligations, Naerys is still a sixteen-year-old girl who wants and  _ needs  _ friendship. You standing by her side is what’s important. You’d be surprised at how much strength that can offer a person.”

Lyarra smiled. “I still want to help her.”

“And you will. Just give her time and let her know she can talk to you when she wishes to.”

—

There was a sort of magnetism between Naerys and Aemon. They seemed to pull towards one another. The two did not even need to look to one another before they found themselves near. Lyarra could see when their eyes met that a small smile was offered and she could see Naerys breathe as though she had been holding it for a moment until she saw him. 

However, Naerys was always busy and occupied while Aemon’s attention was almost always upon her, even when he was speaking with someone else. It was the way his body was positioned, almost always turned slightly in her direction, as though he could go to her in seconds should the need arise. 

It was also obvious that the Night Watch maester and Lord Robb were doing what they could to keep the two separate. 

Lyarra had seen the dazed look in her friend’s eyes whenever she came back from her moments alone with Aemon. She looked lost and flushed. Lyarra knew Naerys would never offer a kiss to anyone, much less when her heart was in a tizzy, and she also knew that Naerys saw her maidenhood as sacred, which it was, and would never offer it to anyone save the man she bound herself to in the Sept. 

The magnetism between the two was undeniable, as undeniable as the fact that Naerys  _ knew his name  _ before he had ever been introduced to them.

With Daemon, it was different. 

Daemon was by Naerys’ side for most of the night when he was not next to Princess Elia or Princess Rhaenys. There was an ease between the two. They had both been raised in similar environments, after all. 

Naerys would tense ever so slightly when a lord or knight who backed Prince Aegon’s family came to speak with her. Unless a person knew her well, most wouldn’t notice the way she would tense. They were looking to find fault in her, find a way for her to slip. The talk of betrothal between her and Jaehaerys was not well known outside the royal family’s inner circle, but most wanted Jaehaerys to be Prince Jon’s hero, no matter how ill equipped he was for it. 

Naerys would tense and Daemon would be by her side in an instant, putting his hand on the small of her back as she continued to speak. He would rarely add anything, but Lyarra could see the way Naerys eased into his touch and grow more confident in her posture. 

Lyarra was never close enough to hear what he said, but she could see him speaking to her, his lips brushing against her temple as he spoke. Her nose would brush against his jaw whenever she would reply to look up at him. 

She could almost see it. 

Naerys’ hair would be up in a Dornish fashion, similar to the style Princess Elia wore for formal occasions, the crown of gold and rubies upon her darkened auburn hair. She would wear a black dress similar to Queen Lyanna’s with layers of grey and blue beneath it, visibly more when she was walking than standing. She would have some lines upon her face and perhaps threads of silver dispersed amongst the auburn. 

Daemon’s dark curls would have some grey in them and the lines on his face would be from smiling or laughing. His beard would never be full, but short and look as though he had forgotten to shave the past few mornings. He would wear a gold Dornish tunic with a blue undershirt to match the blue of Naerys’ dress. He would wear a simple golden circlet around his head with little embellishments save for perhaps a single ruby. His hand would almost always be hovering at the small of Naerys’ back as they would tour the room, speaking to their people, as a way to support and protect her all at once.

Lyarra could even imagine a babe napping at Naerys’s breast or in Daemon’s arms as they did their royal duty. Lyarra could see it. 

But most of all, Lyarra could see her friend happy. She could see Naerys as content. 

—

They both laid down in Naerys’ bed. It was something they had done on many occasions since they were little girls. Elia has occasionally joined them, but she  _ kicked  _ in her sleep  _ constantly  _ so it was rather hard to get comfortable with her because, even in the huge bed, she managed to find a way to kick them in their sleep. 

“Lyarra?”

“Hm?”

“What do you think I should do?”

“About Daemon and Aemon?”

“Yeah.”

“Give me five good things and five bad things about each of them. Start with Daemon.”

“Five good things…” She thought for a moment. “He respects me and my position and would never try to take away my agency as queen. Politically, he would tie the throne back to Dorne and fix what mess my grandparents created with the Martells. He makes me laugh, truly laugh for the silliest things. He’s a good father and I know he would love my children too. He… I think he loves me. Truly loves me, not just as a political match.” She thought for another moment. “Five bad things… He loves me and love can blind people when they want to protect you. He still loves Alayna and I know he always will because he loves Mors and never wants to deny him the chance to know the woman that bore him. People might still try to defer to him when we’re married because we aren’t as progressive as Dorne. Some lords might try to take advantage of his Dornish-ness and claim that he’s fathered their daughter’s bastards. I could be happy with him, truly happy with him.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Happiness is the one thing queens can never be certain of.”

“That’s a depressing way to think.”

“Look at all the Targaryen queens before me. Name one that was truly happy. One. I can’t think of any.”

“Probably because it’s the middle of the night,” Lyarra said. “Onto Aemon.”

“Five good things… I feel as though I’ve known him my whole life, as though I was born knowing him. He thinks my mind is amazing and looks at me sometimes like I’m the smartest person he’s ever met. He’s so protective and I know he would do whatever he can to keep me safe, consequences be damned.” She looked at Lyarra. “I didn’t say this for Daemon, but it’s true for both. He’s handsome.”

“I’ll allow it,” Lyarra said. “I suppose that’s a sixth good thing about Daemon. Go on.”

“I feel as though there is no one else for him. It is either me or no one else. I’ve never… it’s strange being that for someone. Strange and invigorating.”

“And the bad?”

“We’re from two different worlds. He’s from beyond the Wall and I’ve never really left King’s Landing; one of us would have to leave the home we’ve always known for it to work. And he would protect me, consequences be damned and that is so very dangerous. I… there are some things he says, about wildings… Free folk… I can’t abide by that.  _ Stealing.  _ It feels so utterly wrong. If… if Jaehaerys  _ stole  _ me… would Aemon fight it? When he described a life for us beyond the Wall, a life outside of politics, it felt so utterly dangerous and, well, neglectful. What if my parents don’t have another child? I have a duty and I  _ won’t  _ slack it off to someone else.”

“And the fifth bad thing?”

“I feel as though I lose all sense around him, like there’s a dog and I can’t quite think straight.”

“Hm. That is a problem.”

“Lyarra, what should I do?”

“Do you want my honest opinion?”

“ _ Yes. _ ”

“Choose Daemon. He makes you happy and love can come from that, although I think you love him already, you’re just scared to say it because saying it makes it real. He makes you happy and you feel safe. If you left to go be a wildling, you might find some happiness, I won’t deny that. But you’ll just feel guilty in the long run. You’re nothing like the king and queen. You can’t through duty to the wind. It’s not who you are.”

Naerys snuggled against Lyarra. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Listening.” She thought for another moment. “And for helping me think.”

“It’s what I’m here for. I’m a much better conversationalist than any of those smelly boys.”

They giggled and settled in for the rest of the night until sleep claimed them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brandon and Lyarra 🥰  
> Jeyne giving her daughter some advice and some Jeyne x Podrick cuteness. Lol  
> Lyarra’s observations on the Naemons triangle. Remember that observations are made from the POV of that person!  
> Naerys and Lyarra friendship/discussion.
> 
> Elia Sand gets a POV next!


	39. Elia I

Elia could remember when she and Joanna were little girls at Sunspear, running about and giggling against the halls of the Dornish keep. She could remember them screaming as Joanna’s father pretended to be a lion trying to eat them. She remembered him picking them up and nuzzling his nose into their necks, puffing air against them to set off a shriek of laughter. 

Uncle Joffrey was not always the kindest person in the world, especially around his mother and half-sisters, but he had been the closest thing Elia had to a father in many of the moments where she needed one, although she would never tell her mother that. She never wanted her mother to think she was not enough. 

Perhaps it was nostalgia that brought Elia to have tea with Joanna, or perhaps it was hope that she could save the girl she had once known. The girl that had been a sister to her where Olyvar and Daemon had been brothers. 

“I’m surprised that you wish to talk, cousin,” Joanna said, her head cocked to the side, eyes narrowed. She looked like Lady Margaery in moments like that, with her hair styled as the Rose of Highgarden and dressed in such a way that no one would possibly guess that she was Dornish, something she had once taken pride in. 

Elia thought of Naerys, of the bruises against her arm, of the way she flinched ever so slightly when Jaehaerys drew near, the way, for only a moment, she tried to make herself as small as possible. It was Daemon that had brought up Joanna first between them. 

_ If he’s willing to hurt Naerys, he would have no problem hurting Joanna. You know how she’s… she’s never minded pain. She won’t listen to me, Elia. But maybe she would listen to you.  _

“Can’t I just speak with my cousin?” Elia asked. “Daemon can be so very boring when he talks about Dorne because he just goes on and on about Mors instead.” Not exactly a lie, but not the whole truth either. “You’ve stopped writing and I was tired of waiting for you to open a conversation with me.”

Joanna narrowed her eyes. She leaned forward and folded her arms against the table. A rather Dornish thing to do, not something the supposedly proper ladies of King’s Landing or Highgarden ever did. “You side with Daemon, do you not?”

Elia blinked. “If you mean, do I support Daemon becoming Naerys’ husband, than yes, I do.”

“You don’t want her to marry Jaehaerys.”

“No, I don’t.”

Joanna smirked. It’s when she looked most like her grandfather, Oberyn. “Then perhaps we could come to some accord.”

It was Elia’s turn to narrow her eyes. “An accord?”

“You and the others back in Dorne want Naerys to marry Daemon, even though she probably won’t be queen if she does.”

“You don’t think she’ll be queen just because she’s married to Daemon?”

“The king wants Jaehaerys to be king.”

If the king had wanted Jaehaerys to be king, he wouldn’t have taken Prince Aegon out of the line of succession. “And what do you want?”

“To be Jaehaerys’ queen.”

“So the rumors are true.”

“What rumors?”

“That you and Jaehaerys share a bed.”

Joanna smiled. It was so bright and lovely that Elia remembered the girl she had grown up with. “We do, save for when the maester thinks I am more likely to conceive.”

Where Jaehaerys probably goes to the brothel. He heard Waymar discussing it with the prince before. “And you think just because he shares your bed that means he loves you.”

Joanna scowled. “Of course he loves me. He’s only his true self around me.” She lifted her chin. “He always has to be so very careful around Naerys.” She said the name as though it were poison. 

“She doesn’t want to marry him either, you know. It’s Jaehaerys that wants to marry her.”

“ _ Only  _ because he thinks the king might not accept our marriage.” She lifted her chin again. “He  _ loves  _ me.”

“And why do you say that, has he told you he loves you?”

“He doesn’t need to tell me. He shows me often enough.”

“By taking to your bed?”

“By how he takes me.”

Elia narrowed her eyes. “Jo,” the childhood nickname slipped from her tongue so easily. “Is Jaehaeys hurting you?”

“Hurting me?” Joanna scoffed. “Lia, he  _ loves _ me.”

Elia stood and yanked down Joanna’s collar. A vibrant necklace of brown blotched skin circled her neck. Bruises as big as hands. Her blood ran hot. “I’m going to murder him. “

“I asked him to do it,” Joanna said curtly, barely bothering to straighten her collar. “I want him to do it. It’s how he shows me he loves me.”

“That is not love, Joanna. That is abuse. That is what the Mad King did to Queen Rhaella!”

“No, he  _ loves  _ me.” She scoffed. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

“What is there to understand!? He’s hurting you and he’s probably hurting whatever whore he takes in the brothel’s he—”

Joanna slapped her. “Just because you don’t know what love is doesn’t mean I don’t either. Keep Daemon in line so he can marry Naerys. Do the same with the wildling man. I have heard some whispers that he may do something stupid. Just do what you think is right by her. I will marry Jaehaerys and I will be his queen, just as Grandmother always said I would.”

Joanna stormed from Elia’s room and the Dornish girl never felt so lost in her entire life. 

—

Elia sat in the actual sewing circle with Lyarra and Naerys who were working on a dress for the Payne girl. 

“Brandon hates red,” Lyarra muttered. “I won’t have it on the dress.”

“You want a robin on the dress!” Naerys laughed. 

“Well, Brandon hates red.”

“He does not seem to mind my hair color, says it’s my only good feature whenever I annoy him.”

It was Lyarra’s the time I roll her eyes. 

“Jaehaerys is hurting Joanna,” Elia said m, her tone sombering the mood immediately. Her friends looked at her. Lyarra’s eyes were wide while Naerys looked sad. “Did you know?”

“I had hoped that it was only ever towards me,” Naerys admitted. “But I see I put too much faith in Jaehaerys.” She set down her sewing. “Is it very bad?”

“He’s choking her.”

“Gods,” Lyarra muttered. 

“And that’s what I was able to see. She had always loved Dornish dresses, how they showed her figure. I think she’s wearing Tyrell fashion more to cover herself than anything.”

“Write to your uncle, Joffrey, or even Prince Oberyn,” Naerys said. “Tell then that there is some evidence that Jaehaerys is hurting Joanna. They might call her back to Dorne. Lady Cersei might not like it, but she doesn’t really get a say.”

“And you think Joanna will just go?”

“No, but Aunt Margaery might send her away should your uncle or the prince write to her. She’s aware of Jaehaerys’ affair with Joanna, I think, but not of what he does with her. She might send Joanna back to Dorne as a way to create one less obstacle between her son and myself. We could use that to our advantage.”

“How do we know Joanna won’t do something that will try to let her stay?” Lyarra asked. 

“We don’t,” Naerys said, worrying her lip between her teeth. “We can only hope she doesn’t. The king won’t take kindly to it at all.”

—

“I will not be Jaehaerys’ Visenya,” Elia said as she stood before her grandfather, her chin lifted. “Therefore, I will not accept any legitimization from you.”

The king narrowed his eyes. “Come now, Elia. I know that Jaehaerys prefers Naerys, but Aegon prefered Rhaenys as well. I doubt you would be called to have any children by him if you did not wish it.”

Elia scoffed. “You say  _ preferred  _ as though it were some great thing. Naerys doesn’t  _ want _ to marry Jaehaerys.”

“She’s young and doesn’t understand what is at stake.”

“And you are old, so blind to the things that go on about you because you’re stuck in the past,” Elia snapped. “Jaehaerys is no Aegon the Conqueror, or perhaps he is. But his is also the Mad King. How can you turn a blind eye to all those who oppose Jaehaerys. It’s not even just about the proposal. It’s about Jaehaerys himself.”

“He’s a fine military leader—”

“And that means nothing when he just enjoys hurting people. Grandfather, if you love any of us at all, you would allow Naerys to marry someone else.”

The king stood. “If you have nothing of importance to say and you have not come to accept your legitimization, you can go now, Elia.”

He left the room and Elia never hated her grandfather more. 

—

“My lady,” Torrhen said with a bow. 

“My lord,” Elia dipped her head. 

“How goes your plans for my sweet cousin?”

“As well as they can in this pit of dragons where the old think they no everything and the young aren’t quite allowed a voice or room to spread their wings.” Torrhen nodded. “And you? How are your plans?”

“We’re talking battle strategy now,” he said. “I hate that the prick has a good head for it.” He didn’t need to specify what prick he was referring to. “I hate that the king acts as though  _ he  _ is the only way that we might beat the Others. The Starks beat them once before, we can do it again. There’s just a better strength in numbers.”

Elia nodded. Her grandfather was a stubborn man. Everything had to begin and end with him. 

“Have you spoken to your father?” Elia asked. 

“Yes. He’s spoken with your mother.”

“It’s not the time for matches made for love is it?”

“Brandon and Lyarra seem to be managing.”

She smiled. “They are.” She stepped towards him. “I believe we are getting off topic.”

“And what topic is that, my lady?”

“One where we don’t speak at all.”

“We do speak,” Torrhen laughed. “But it is usually just one another’s names.”

She smiled at him and pressed her lips to his with a chaste kiss. Elia pulled back slightly, only for Torrhen to pull her into his arms and kissed her more passionately. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you guys like Elia’s POV? Did you like more insight on Joanna? Should I give her a POV soon? I have plans for one but not till later.
> 
> Sansa gets a POV next!


	40. Sansa VI

“It seems like just yesterday the maester put Lyarra in my arms for the first time,” Jeyne whispered as she began to stitch gold coins onto the hem of her daughter’s dress. 

“She was so adorable,” Sansa said with a sigh. “I could hardly believe anyone could be so small. She had quite the grip too.”

Jeyne grinned. “Poor Podrick. He had been trying to grow a beard and Lyarra nearly ripped it out.”

“And he never tried growing once since.”

“I’m right here you know,” Podrick grumbled, his ears bright red. The two burst into uncontrollable giggles and Podrick rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “She’s really grown up. And marrying into the royal family too, for all that Viserys participated in it.”

Sansa smiled and continued to work on her own project, a veil for Naerys when she would eventually marry. “I’m sure she will be fine,” Sansa said. “Brandon’s a good boy, man nearly. And it’s obvious to everyone that he cherishes her. He looks at Lyarra the same way his father looks at Arya.”

Jeyne smiled. “I know most think having a child is one of the happiest moments of a parent’s life, but I think it’s seeing your child being truly cherished by another person that is the happiest.” She looked to her husband and Podrick smiled. “Seeing her find happiness in the world is a wonderful thing.”

Sansa smiled as well. “And as a bonus, she and Naerys will be cousins by marriage.”

Jeyne sighed. “I remember the days in Winterfell when we used to imagine being true sisters. Robb had always been quite handsome.”

“Hey,” Podrick chuckled. 

“He’s nothing on you, love,” Jeyne said, blowing a kiss to her husband. 

Sansa laughed and rolled her eyes. 

“What has Arya said of the match?” Jeyne asked. “What has she said in private?”

“She looks on it favorable,” Sansa said. “Especially considering how you used to call her horseface.”

Podrick snorted so loudly and Sansa was actually a little worried about it. “You called Lady Arya Targaryen  _ horseface _ ?!” he laughed. 

“When we were  _ children _ !” Jeyne exclaimed. “I have already apologized profusely!”

Sansa smirked. “That you have, which is why Arya hadn’t said anything like that.”

“Oh, you!” Jeyne nudged her and Sansa just laughed. 

“Arya said it was a good match and that her son was so smitten she doubted even the Maiden herself could tempt him.”

Podrick smiled proudly. “As he should.”

“Did Rhaenys tell your that Robb came to her to talk of an engagement between Torrhen and Elia?” Sansa asked. 

“Truly?” Jeyne asked with a smile. “They would be a good match, I think. Even if Elia has a bastard name, she is still a royal bastard and one who has distinguished themselves fighting wise. The North would surely respect her.”

“Especially those of Bear Island,” Sansa added. “It would also solidify our ties with Dorne more soundly should a certain marriage also take place.”

“With the threat from beyond the Wall, we need to solidify our alliances,” Podrick said. “This isn’t a time to marry inward. Surely the king shall come to see that.”

“I dearly hope so,” Sansa said. Jeyne reaches out and took Sansa’s hand in her own and squeezed it. Sansa squeezed back. “I dearly hope so.”

—

Sansa had spent quite a bit of time without having to see Daenerys and she supposed such luck would run out eventually. 

“Your grace,” Sansa dipped her head slightly to the princes. 

“Lady Sansa.”

Sansa did not bother to correct her. Daenerys was the one at fault if she was unable to use the correct titles. Sansa almost wished she would forget and do so in public. Belittling Sansa was belittling the North and the Riverlands and the Vale. Even the king would have to correct his precious sister on such things. 

“I have not seen you in this part of the keep for some time, your grace,” Sansa said. “Are you in need of something?”

“Simply looking about. I have found that this part of the keep has become too… Stark-ish for a Targaryen held keep.”

“Considering my husband is half Stark and I am as well, I do not think so. Besides, winter is coming. The Starks have been preparing for winter much longer than any dragon has.” 

The Targaryen woman’s lips tended and Sansa could see her fighting a snarl. “I suppose that’s true. However, it is by fire and blood that a victory is won.”

“Perhaps when there were true dragons, however the dragons have been dead for some time now and the wildings have proven that direwolves still walk this earth.”

Daenerys pulled her lips back into a reptilian smile that was more threatening than anything. “I suppose that is true. And yet, dragons are the ones atop the wheel.”

“A wheel turns,” Sansa replies. “My daughter, a girl with more wolf’s blood than dragon’s, will one day take the throne. A Targaryen she may be, but she is not one who will watch on as people use their name to belittle others.”

“You think you are so clever, don’t you Sansa?”

So, she had dropped titles completely. 

“You believe you have already won.”

“I don’t,” Sansa said, lifting her chin. “For those who believe victory is their find that loss is so much closer than they originally thought.”

“How naive of you to think so. It is why wolves have died so easily in the flames.”

“I do believe that was because  _ someone  _ went quite mad to the point that a man sworn to him buried his sword in his back.” Sana’a could hear Daenerys grinding her teeth together. “The Starks have been rather prosperous. More so than the Targaryens. For someone who believes themselves to be better than  _ the sheep _ , you are quite adept at taking credit for the things that they do.”

“Soon, I will see you leave this keep and never return, taking your charm and your seductions with you.”

Sansa gave her a curt smile. “I fear I have no seductions. Rather, I have been seduced. Your father found enemies where there were none. Perhaps you have found love where there isn’t any.” Sansa gave a short curtsy. “Good day, your grace.” With her head held high, she continued on her path, ignoring the growl from behind her. 

—

“Lord Varys,” Sansa said, setting her tea down. 

The eunuch bowed. “Princess. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Please sit. I am sure you would find it much more comfortable than standing.”

“Thank you, your grace,” he said taking a seat. “You would be surprised at how many people do not offer me one.” He smiled lightly. “I believe that they forget my age because of my near constant baldness.”

Sansa returned his smile with her own. “I believe you do not give yourself credit, my lord, you are quite ageless in your appearance.”

“You flatter me, my dear. Your daughter has taken after you in that. I fear the prince has never done well in compliments. He fumbles with them quite charmingly though.”

Sansa has found that her husband’s tongue is more apt at other things. She blushed and continued onward. “And that almost leads me to the topic at hand,” she said. “Naerys.”

“Yes, the princess has been quite busy lately with all that has been going on,” the Master of Whispers nodded. 

He had always been fond of Sansa’s daughter, when he was so rarely openly fond with anyone. It was perhaps because Naerys always remembered her courtesies or if he saw something in her that he rather liked. Lord Varys had never made his reasons apparent. 

“I fear that the  _ other  _ faction is planning something and wish to know if you have heard anything.”

Lord Varys sat back into his chair. “They are gathering allies for Jaehaerys. Promising things they can almost keep but put off for long enough that they don’t matter.”

“Anything else?”

“They seem to take the threat from the far North seriously. They are gathering people who might serve and go ahead of time to better acclimate to the war. My birds are hearing more of that than anything else.”

“You are aware of what Jaehaerys has been… doing to my daughter?”

“I was not aware until recently. I fear the boy is good at strategy and has no doubt made it his initiative to only do things where it cannot be seen or can be viewed as something else. It did not help that the princess wished to hide such things.” Sansa looked down at her lap. “I mean that as no offense to you, your grace,” he said. “For if I did not notice, I doubt many did either.”

“Has he hurt anyone else?”

“The girls he frequents in the brothels are those who find pleasure and pain to be the same and if he has harmed Lady Joanna, she is equally adept at hiding it.” The man sighed. “I need to bring my successor forward.”

“You have a successor?” Sansa asked, surprised. 

“I do. Although I will not ask her to reveal herself until your husband has assumed his position as king.”

“Do I know her?”

“You do. I have found her to be very apt at learning things and my little birds look at her fondly.”

“Is she aware of her being your successor?”

“No, it is better for her to be unaware until the time is right. Not many would think of her and she is quite easy to overlook when she wishes to be.”

“You have me excited, Lord Varys.”

“I aim to please.”

“Have you heard anything else I should be wary of?”

“Has there been no indication of a child?”

“Not as yet. Tell me, my lord, would you want this child to be a boy or a girl?”

“Another girl would offer more chances of expanding the family and bringing in others and not make too many waves within the Keep. A boy… a boy adds another possibility to the Targaryen name and there will be some who wish to use him as the next king. Although I doubt the Tyrells would be able to sink their claws into him as easily as they have tried with the princess.”

Sansa nodded. “I thought as much.”

“You and your husband are the future of this kingdom. As I cannot predict the future and merely prepare for it, I believe Naerys is the one who must and should be backed unless a male heir is born. Even so, I fear Naerys’ role in this would not be over even if a boy was born.”

—

“Your grace,” Sansa said, giving a deep curtsy. 

“Sansa, come,” Princess Elia motioned time the spot next to her on the couch. “It has been so long since it was just the two of us.”

Sansa straightened and smiled as she sat next to the princess. “It truly has. I’m sorry for neglecting you.”

“Nonsense. It’s given me time to spend with Rhaenys and little Elia. Viserys has even come to visit me.” The Dornish woman smiled brightly.

Many in the palace viewed her as a mother figure and Sansa viewed her as such as well. She was so maternal and caring. A true mother to Westeros if ever there was. Although Sansa had come to some sort of understanding with her aunt, Elia was truly meant to be queen. She was all the songs asked for in a queen. It was a tragedy within itself that she was not. 

“I fear I have called you here for not just a social visit.”

Sansa nodded. “Of course. If it were merely social, we would have met in the gardens. What is on your mind, your grace?”

“I fear my little nephew is very much in love with your daughter.”

“Fear?”

“I suppose fear is not the right word, but it is the word that fits most snuggly to my emotions.” She sighed. “Worry might be the better word. I worry for him and Naerys both. I believe she loves him as well. Loves him enough to worry about what her connection to the wildling does to him when she is allowed a moment to think.” She looked off into the distance. “She is better than her grandfather in that respect.”

“Your grace?”

“Rhaegar and I were never a love match, it was politics and a way for King Aerys to once again snub Lord Tywin.” She sighed. “However, we grew to care for one another and father and mother to our children. I even thought it love once. But then the tourney of Harrenhal happened and I knew that he had no thought for me at all. The same can be said of what Aegon did to you.” Elia returned her gaze to Sansa. “As a woman, as royal women, we so rarely have the chance to be happy. Naerys is a child, no matter how many might disagree with it. Daemon is a child as well, although closer to manhood. The wildling prince… he is a man and, for all his naivety in the way of politics and court, he is a man who knows the world much better than she does. She is a child who wishes to please a man who has shown her attention and devotion in a way men are court have been taught not to.”

“My aunt and the king.”

Elia smiled sadly. “Your aunt loves the king very much, or loved him. I know they have been distant recently. I know I do not know Prince Aemon well, but these are just my observations. Naerys is much stronger than she appears, that strength, however, is not the strength that means she can pick up a sword or fight physical battles. Yet, it is still strength. She reminds me of myself a little, when I was her age.” Elia took Sansa’s hand in her own. “Your daughter has the strength of a queen, not of a fighter like Queen Visenya, or of cruel politics like Queen Rhaenys. She has the strength of a queen who truly cares. She gets that from you.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“We have let the world and this family burn us,” Elia said gently. “But ice is just as biting when one is not careful. It is every parent’s dream for their child to find someone to truly cherish them. Cherish  _ them _ , not the  _ idea  _ of them.”

Sansa thought of her conversation with Jeyne and Podrick earlier. “I understand, your grace.”

Elia squeezed her hand. “I do not say these things because I wish for this family to better unite with Dorne. I am a grandmother who worries for the next generation making the same mistakes my own did.”

“I’ll keep my daughter safe. I swear it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many things going on!
> 
> Jon gets a POV next and we have a baby next chapter!


	41. Jon VI

Jon sat next to Naerys outside of Arya and Viserys’ rooms. Sansa and Jeyne were both inside helping attend to Arya as she was crying out with every contraction. 

Viserys was pacing nearby, visibly shaken, with Rhaenys holding Jenny and little Sansa in her arms. Lyarra was next to Brandon, holding his hand. Little Elia had her hand on Brandon’s back. Robb was sitting, tapping his foot against the stone trying to remain patient. Torrhen was sitting on the other side of Naerys. 

Jones uncle looked frazzled, but he wasn’t too worried since his uncle had taken a similar stance when his other three children were born. Viserys was never allowed in the birthing room with Arya. It wasn’t that the maester has barred him from the room, the maester honestly didn’t care. Arya was the one who forbade him. 

Mainly it was because of Viserys’ codling, but also because he could hear Arya screaming profanities, usually aimed at her husband from inside the room as Sansa and Jeyne tried to calm her down. 

“You are never allowed to touch me again Viserys Targaryen!”

“You did this!”

“Next time you’ll be the one screaming!”

“Are births always this hard?” Naerys asked. 

“Not always,” Jon said, as though he knew. 

He watched Viserys as he paced and felt sorry for his uncle in some ways. Viserys was rather cautious when it came to Arya being pregnant, it’s why they always came back to the Red Keep for the births. Although he never said it, Jon was certain he worried because of Queen Rhaella. The incest had probably not helped with her pregnancies, but the lack of care from the Mad King probably hadn’t helped either. 

Jon had no room to speak, he’d been just as worried when Naerys was born, more so since Sansa has been rather sick throughout the end of the pregnancy. If he remembered correctly, Rhaenys and Aegon both had to hold him down to one of the seats given to them so he wouldn’t run himself ragged because he had been up for two days straight. 

“She’s going to be fine, Father,” Brandon said, although he looked pale and moments away from sickness. 

“I know,” Viserys muttered. 

A baby’s cry rang from the room and Viserys was through the door before it had even finished. They all gave the new parents a moment as Sansa and Lyarra came out. 

“How are they?” Jon asked his wife, standing. He reached and tucked stray hair behind her ear. 

“Both are fine,” she replied. “Arya’s exhausted though.”

“I can imagine. Was it a difficult…”

“Not as bad as Brandon or as easy as my namesake, but you know Arya, she enjoys the dramatics.”

Jon smiled and pressed a kiss to his wife’s forehead as she hugged their daughter. 

They had to wait a few more moments, but Viserys came out of the room holding a small bundle in his arms. 

“Alys Targaryen,” his uncle said proudly. He was smiling so hard that Jon could imagine it freezing in place. 

The children went to see the new baby as Jon held his wife, wondering when it might be their turn to introduce a new child to the family. 

—

“Did seeing Arya like that still make you want to have a babe?” Jon asked as he sank into his wife’s heat.

She shuddered beneath him. “Mm,” she moaned softly into his ear as he began to move. “I want so much more than one babe,” she whispered, wrapping her legs around his hips. “So much more.”

Jon began to move slowly until he was frantic, wanting to feel her fall apart all around him. 

“Jon!”

He followed soon after and rested fully atop her. 

Sansa smacked his back playfully. “Don’t get so high headed,” she said, although he could feel her smirking. 

Jon smirked as well. “I don’t know, being able to get my wife off pretty quickly is quite the achievement.”

Sansa rolled her eyes and Jon rolled them onto his back. “Have you thought of names?”

“A Northern one this time,” Jon said. “I know you wanted Naerys to feel more… I don’t know… accepted amongst my family with a Targaryen name, but I want the next to have a Northern name.”

“You’ve put quite a bit of thought into it, husband,” Sansa sighed, resting her cheek against his chest. “Tell me your list.”

“Eddard, if it’s a boy,” he said. “Or perhaps Rickard.”

Sansa glanced up at him. “Would that be wise? The Rickard one, considering…”

“Our marriage was supposed to heal those wounds.”

“And naming a boy after my father instead of yours?”

“My father does not deserve to have anyone named after him.”

“Do you hate your father then?”

Jon began to stroke his wife’s back. “It’s not that. I just… my father doesn’t seem to care about anything save for being right and for letting the Targaryen name being righteous.” He sighed. “We aren’t a good family. Fire and Blood has nearly torn the kingdoms apart on multiple occasions. He doesn’t bother to see it.”

Sansa snuggled into him. “I’m sorry, Jon.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“That your father doesn’t live up to the shadow he cast.”

Jon hugged his wife tightly. 

—

The world was white. Screams and cries of battle ripped through the air upon the wind as snow pelted down upon them, creating an immovable mist as bodies of ice and bodies of warm blood crashed into each other. 

“Sorry,” a whisper came from his arms and Naerys was there. Her blue eyes were a dull grey and she was growing heavier by the second. He stared at his daughter in horror as blood began to bloom across her chest, spreading until he could feel its warmth upon his fingers. 

He fell to his knees. “No, no, no! Naerys!” 

_ Give her back!  _ A howl of a direwolf pierces the night as the sun began to pulse over them, shielded from them by the snow.  _ No!  _ it seemed to scream. 

A child began to wail and Jon could do nothing. 

“Hold on, Naerys,” he whispered, laying his daughter down, trying to put pressure on the wound he could not see. “Hold on, sweetling. Please. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again. “No, sweet girl. Please, please, please.”

Flames began to surround them and he looked up and saw his father, flaming sword in hand. “It is your destiny.”

“No!” Jon shot up in his bed, his breath ragged. It took a moment for him to hear Sansa trying to calm him. It took even longer for Jon to realize he was sobbing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new baby has joined the family!  
> Jon and Sansa gave a shirt sexy moment and a discussion on names!  
> Jon has dreams too!  
> (Sorry for the short chapter)


	42. Daemon V

“Where Rys?” Mors asked as Daemon sat with his son to look over the work the maester had done with him the past week. 

“She’s spending time with her new little cousin,” he said. His son’s writing had improved quite a bit. 

Daemon had a chance to see the baby as well. The babe had looked adorable, but seeing Naerys hold a babe in her arms with such care and gentleness has made Daemon’s heart stop quite a few times. She looked so at ease with the child. It looked natural and Daemon had let his mind wander to what it might be like when she had a child of her own. He had imagined a dark haired babe at her breast and he had to quickly put such thoughts away, just as he had when her lips had been pressed against his neck. He was well aware of what needed to happen for Naerys to carry a babe of her own, regardless of who the father was. 

“Rys coming?” his son’s voice broke his thoughts. 

“Later. She’s having her mid-day meal with us.” He had told her she hadn’t needed to, but she wanted to see Mors. She had said so blushing and Daemon felt only a little envy for her seeming to prefer Mors, but at the same time he did not mind. Being with Mors tended to keep Daemon’s mind out of the bedsheets. 

“New mama?”

“What?”

“Maes’er says Rys new mama.”

Daemon was used to his son’s broken chatter and could pick up on what he was asking. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Would you want her to be your new mother?”

“Yeah!” Mors began to bounce in his seat. 

“Come here, buddy,” Daemon opened his arm and Mors crawled into his lap. He snuggled his head under Daemon’s chin and he held him close. “I would very much like Naerys to be your new mother and I know she loves you very much, but to be your mother she would need to marry me.”

“Marry!”

“Mhm.” Daemon buried his nose in his son’s curls. “But that’s her choice. Even if she doesn’t marry me, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you.” Gods, he did not want to break his son’s heart. He didn’t want to give his son too much hope only for it not to happen. “She might marry me, but she might not. Don’t ask her about it Mors. I promise, if she’s going to be your new mother, we’ll both tell you.”

“Kay!” His son’s head shifted. “Daddy! Drew picture of Sansy!”

Daemon smiled and let his son show him a picture he drew of little Sansa. 

—

“You wished to speak to me, Princess Elia?” Daemon asked as he entered the Dornish woman’s solar. 

“Come in,” she said, motioning to a shake opposite her. “Please, sit.”

Daemon did as he was asked and sat down. “Did you need something?”

“I wished to _ask_ you something,” she admitted. “Tell me, what are your thoughts on Princess Naerys.”

He blushed. “She’s kind and a queen I would gladly follow. Even if she were no queen, I would still follow her,” he admitted. “I think she’s the sort of queen Westeros needs now.”

The princess smiled. “I believe the same. But I was not asking your opinion, my little nephew. I was asking of your thoughts.”

Daemon knew he was turning a darker shade of red. “I wish for her to be happy. I know it is impossible to be so at all times, but I wish she would smile at least once every day and… I wish I could, in part, be the reason for that happiness, that joy. I want to protect her, not that she can’t protect herself, but I wish to he the one she feels she can come to if she needs it.”

“She already does,” Princess Elia said. “I have seen the way she is when she is with you and Jaehaerys draws near. She brings herself closer to you.”

Daemon half believed it was because it made her feel safer, but considering how she held onto his arm, it was no doubt also to keep him from punching the Targaryen prince in the face. “Perhaps, your grace.”

“Has she said anything of betrothal?”

“Not explicitly, no. But she’s sixteen and I am not much older either. We are still young.”

“But politics do not wait for age,” the princess pointed out. 

“No it doesn’t.”

“What are _your_ observations on Naerys’ connection to the wildling prince?”

“They have a connection that is hard to explain,” he said carefully. “I think only the gods fully understand it. But he’s a good man and I know he wishes to protect her as well. He’s trustworthy.”

“Do you think she loves him?”

Daemon’s heart ached. “Quite possibly.”

“I worry that she does not fully know him, nor he her. I love Naerys as though she were my own granddaughter by blood. I do not wish her to give her heart to a man who cannot give her what she needs.”

“Is it not her choice to whom she gives her heart?” Daemon asked. 

“It is, but her heart would be much safer with someone like you.”

“That may be, but it is still her choice,” he reiterated. “I will not force her hand or give her ultimatums. Even if I am not her first choice, I will always be a _choice._ Her heart is safe with me, and I will not force her to give it to me for the sake of vanity or politics. If I am her choice, then I will accept it.”

—

Naerys wore a Dornish red dress with gold trim. Her hair was loose, pulled back from her face with braids that disappeared into the back of her hair. She looked as though she belonged in the water gardens back in Sunspear and Daemon longed to take her there and show her its beauty. Seeing her dressed as one of his people sent his heart racing in his chest. 

“You look beautiful,” he said softly after he bowed to her. “You are beautiful.”

She smiled at him, and how Daemon wished to preserve that sight in his memory forever. “Thank you, I felt it right to dress in these colors today.”

He dared not let himself hope when he noted they were the colors of House Martell. “Would you care for a walk in the gardens, Princess? I do think the flowers shall envy you.”

“I would love to,” she said, linking her arm with his. 

They walked to the gardens where there were fewer people than usual. It was as though they had the whole garden to themselves. They made their way to the center of it all and they sat upon one of the many benches, looking out amongst the flowers. 

“Aunt Margaery had many of the flowers brought in from the Reach,” she told him. “They are quite beautiful.”

“None so much as you,” Daemon said without thought and embarrassment coursed through him. 

Naerys blushed as well. “You look quite handsome today as well,” she said. “I have always thought you handsome, in truth.”

Daemon felt his own blush deepen. “You are too kind.”

“It is the truth.” She looked down at her lap. “Daemon?”

“Yes?”

“I know… I know you have much you would need to give up for me if you were to say yes. Your home in Dorne and your name and your position, but if… would you…” She was becoming flustered. 

Daemon stood and got on one knee before her, taking her hand in his. “I would marry you, Naerys, if you would have me.” He squeezed her hand gently. “But only if that is your choice. I do not want you to think you have to.” Her brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I would stay by your side regardless. Marriage is not needed for me to stay. My love for you is free, it need not be returned for me to swear my life to you and your cause.”

She looked at him carefully. “I… in truth I do not know what love is. Not the sort of love they write about in songs. I have never experienced it before and I do not know if I love you because it is expected or if I love Aemon because the gods seemed to have fashioned us for some great purpose.” She squeezed his hand before letting go and patting the space next to her. Daemon stood again and sat beside her. “You deserve someone who loves you and only you. I feel so unworthy of your affection, your love. I don’t deserve it.”

Daemon was quiet for a moment. “When I lost Alayna, I thought that part of my heart was closed forever. Yet, when I met you and got to know you and the wisdom and kindness you hold, I found that part of my heart coming to life once more. I love Alayna. I always will, she gave me Mors and the time we had together was some of the best in my life. But my heart has still grown fond of you. I have still grown to love you. Does my love for her mean my love for you is untrue?”

“No,” she shook her head quickly. “You have shown me your love and care in so many ways. I…”

“You see? I can still love Alayna and say my love for you is true. They do not cancel one another out.” Her reached up and cupped her cheek with his hand. “You deserve every bit of happiness this life has to offer. And if I can be the one who gives some of it to you, then I am a man blessed.”

He could feel the sharp intake of breath. 

“Do you promise we’ll be happy?” she asked. 

Daemon smiled. “I cannot promise we will always be happy. I am sure we will have our arguments. I do not even know which side of the bed you prefer or if you enjoy hogging the sheets or kick them off in the middle of the night, but I _want_ to know. I _want_ to compromise.” He brought his forehead to hers. “You would be a mother to Mors and the mother to any future children we might have the only other children I will have. I would be faithful to you and I know we shall be happy.” Her closed his eyes. “Love does not always begin for marriages between those of our rank and station, but I love you now and I think you will come to love me. I wish to marry you Naerys, not because our families wish it, but because I want it.” He pulled away. “Will you marry me, Naerys? Will you make me happy as I hope to make you happy?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “A thousand times, yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little Mors is adorable as always!  
> A talk between Elia Martell and Daemon!  
> Proposal! Did you notice the line from Little Women (2019)?
> 
> And we still have a long way to go before this fic is over and this is NOT the big event I was talking about before we learn of a new Jonsa baby. ANGST is on the way.


	43. Viserys II

Viserys laid on his stomach, his head resting against the pillow as he peered up at his wife and new daughter. Arya was breastfeeding, Northern women didn’t like using nursemaids unless they had to, little Alys, humming an Essosi song they had learned in their last voyage. 

He smiled while watching them. It was the middle of the night and the moonlight flooded the room in just the right way to illuminate his wife and daughter. Viserys reaches up and stroked his daughter’s soft brown hair. He heard a pop as she let go of Arya and murmured softly. She nuzzled further into her mother’s breast and Viserys sat up to hold both of them. 

When he was younger, Viserys had never thought that he would get the chance to be a father, he hadn’t thought he would be a husband either. Arya was rather good at breaking down walls. Her attitude and her humor had caught Viserys off guard. He had liked her, even though she had been much younger than him. When she had made her feelings for him known—of course Arya had been the one to first confess their feelings—Viserys had tried to pull away, insisting that she deserved someone better. Arya has promptly punched him in the shoulder and told him her heart belonged to him now so it was his job to take care of it. And take care of it he had. 

When Arya had first gotten pregnant with Brandon, so very very soon after they got married, Viserys had been worried. What if he became like his father? His brother? He was a Targaryen. Fire and Blood was his way. What if he hurt her? What if he destroyed the only light he had in his life?

But the first time he felt Brandon kick…

Arya had held him tightly as he broke down into painful sobs, promising that he would always protect them that he would never hurt them. 

Arya was his rock as much as he was to her. 

Now, their oldest was going to get married soon and they had a new babe with them. 

“She’s beautiful,” Viserys whispered, looking down at his daughter’s sleeping form. “She takes after you.”

“She’s got your nose and lips,” Arya said, resting her body against his. “And she’s quiet, like you.”

Viserys smiled. 

“Are you okay?”

He nodded and wrapped his arms just a bit tighter around them. “You make everything better, my love.” He kissed the top of her head. “Everything.”

—

“Has Naerys seemed… brighter to you?” Brandon asked.

Viserys glanced at his niece as she played with Lyarra and Elia. Naerys had a blindfold on as she wandered after her two friends, who called out to her as she moved about. It reminded him of when he was a child with his sister and niece and nephews. It was back when life was almost peaceful or, at least, they could pretend it was.

His son was right though, Naerys seemed brighter, as though a shadow had been taken from her and all the weight from her shoulders had been lifted. She was smiling, grinning, and laughing. She had always been so serious in many ways, but now she just seemed free, more certain of happiness ahead of her. 

“She must have made a decision,” Arya said, handing Alys to him. 

Viserys carefully cradled his daughter to his chest and began to rock her soothingly, after three children, he knew how to rock his fourth into sleep rather easily. “Decision?”

His wife raised an eyebrow at him. “Ah. A decision.” He turned his gaze to the Dornish prince who was smiling like a fool every other sentence as he spoke with Sansa and Rhaenys. “Now all we have to do is convince my brother that it’s the better choice.”

“I could always hit him,” his wife offered.

“I’m sure many people would pay to see that,” he smirked. 

Arya rolled her eyes and pressed a kiss to his lips. 

“Ugh,” their son stuck out his tongue. “Guys, you just had a baby.”

They laughed. 

—

Viserys never liked Jon Connington. He could remember what the man was like as his father’s Hand, but based on what he did as his brother’s it left much to be desired. 

The Hand of the King was meant to curb the king’s darker impulses while encouraging his good ones. He was someone who could and should talk to the king as though he were a normal man, almost an equal. He shouldn’t be afraid to speak against the king’s wishes and come up with a better alternative.

Connington saw Rhaegar as perfect and as someone who could do no wrong, despite Viserys’ brother bringing the realm into a pointless rebellion and alienating almost half of Westeros because of it. Jon Connington did nothing to curb Rhaegar’s impulses of Targaryen supremacy. It was the same with Aegon and even more so with Jaehaerys. 

“Connington,” Viserys said coolly. 

The man nodded his head. “Prince Viserys. Congratulations are in order, I suppose.”

Viserys gave him a tight smile. “Thank you. My daughter is every inch her Stark mother.”

“A shame.”

It took everything in Viserys to not punch the man in the mouth. 

“A shame that Jon did not take after his father,” the man said. “Jaehaerys is the only one to have the Targaryen look from the newer generation.”

“My daughter, Jenny has the Targaryen look.”

“Even so.”

“I think it will be quite refreshing to not have a Targaryen looking ruler,” Viserys said, his smile tightening, forcing it to be as bright as possible. “It will be as though our family is truly moving forward.”

“But one must never forget their glorious roots.”

“Of course not, the Starks have been ruling for thousands of years.”

Connington’s eyes darkened. 

“Good day, Ser.”

—

“Uncle Viserys?”

“Yes my little fish?” He turned to see his niece with her hands behind her back. 

“The baby came a bit sooner than expected, so I wasn’t able to finish it in time, but now I have.” From behind her back, she pulls out a grey knitted blanket. Along the edges it looked like new snowfall with a small ship on each corner. 

Viserys took it to further examine it. “It’s beautiful, Naerys. I’m sure Alys will like it.” The princess beamed up at him. Viserys rubbed the top of her head, something he had done since she was a child. “You’ll make a good mother one day.”

“Really?” she asked. 

Viserys smiled. “You’re a naturally caring and empathetic person, my little fish. You feel very deeply and anyone who is able to have that love in full will be a happy person indeed.”

Naerys blushed. 

“Also…”

“Hm?”

Viserys bent down so he was at eye level with her. “If he ever makes you angry I can help him earn his sealegs.”

Naerys laughed. “Uncle.”

Viserys just smiled. Yes. She would have a much happier life than his mother. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff! Dad!Viserys!
> 
> Aaaaaaaaaand.... Jaehaerys gets a POV next.... 😰


	44. Jaehaerys III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up! The first chapter of my Arthur Dayne x Celia Tully fic has been posted!
> 
> Also... just be warned Jaehaerys does something to Naerys, but it doesn’t go too far. Clothes are ALL on and intact.

Jaehaerys leaned back in the chair he was sitting in and closed his eyes. Waymar was across from him. He usually took his midday meal with his cousin when it wasn’t made into a public or family meal. Waymar was like an older brother to Jaehaerys and someone who knew him, the real him better than most. 

“So,” his cousin asked. “What are you going to do today?”

“My mother wishes to speak to me. Most likely to assure me that Naerys will be my wife soon. Her plans haven’t worked yet, so I don’t know what the difference will be.”

“Well, Aunt Margaery isn’t exactly the smartest person in the world. Marrying your father as or when she did wasn’t wise.”

Jaehaerys huffed out a laugh. So close to being Naerys’ brother. To being in line for the throne in his own name. To having it all at his fingertips. If things had just happened differently…

“What else are you going to do today?”

“I need to have one of the whores at the Mockingbird slipped some moontea. I remind all the ones I’m with to have some, but one of them is pregnant now.”

He didn’t need a bastard running around, not when he was so close to having Naerys. He didn’t need her to be threatened by an unimportant whore and her bastard. He went to the brothels to have his need fulfilled in a way he would never fill them with Naerys.

His cock twitched at the thought of her. 

“How do you know the baby is yours?” Waymar asked. 

Jaehaerys shrugged. “I don’t. But I would rather be safe than sorry. I’d rather not have to kill a pregnant woman, she’s a rather good lay and usually listens to instructions.”

“Still, you don’t know for sure if—”

“Doesn’t matter. I can’t be too careful, especially when things are so precarious. I don’t want an unwanted bastard to ruin my chances with Naerys. It why her grandmother lost interest in Robert Baratheon after all.”

“Having a bastard doesn’t seem to really bother the little dragonfly about Prince Daemon,” his cousin said. Jaehaerys glared at him. “I heard that the Dornish prince proposed to her and she said yes.” Jaehaerys’ hands tightened into fists until his knuckles were white. “All they need is the king’s permission.”

“They aren’t getting it,” Jaehaerys growled. 

Waymar shrugged. “You never know. He would strengthen the king’s ties to the Vale since the prince’s father was a Royce.”

“But he’s no Targaryen and grandfather wants to show in-house unity.”

“He also wants to recreate Aegon the Conqueror and his sister wives with you, the princess, and Elia Sand.”

“And my dislike for Elia is mutual, so I doubt that will happen, and even if it did, Naerys would by my Rhaenys. Only I wouldn’t even bother to visit Elia.”

Waymar shook his head. “We can’t all get what we want.”

“Some of us can. The Targaryens are the closest men can get to being gods. We can get everything we want because we’re willing to fight for it.”

—

Jaehaerys sat at his desk in his room after meeting with his mother and, surprisingly, Aunt Daenerys. 

The Targaryens princess was smart in a sense that she rarely took part in politics and wasn’t much of a player in the grand scheme of things, however it meant that people didn’t pay attention when she was trying to manipulate something. At times, Jaehaerys felt sorry for the woman. Unable to bear children and seemingly unmarriageable. The latter was by her own choice. It was no secret to Jaehaerys that she lusted after Naerys’ father when it was obvious to anyone with a brain that he wasn’t interested. 

Jaehaerys has felt tense hearing the woman speak about Naerys. When they married, the woman wouldn’t be allowed near Naerys at all. He didn’t trust the woman as far as he could throw her. She was wild like a dragon untamed. She held grudges too, however, and Jaehaerys prefered to be on her good side for now until he became king. He would send her away then. Somewhere she wouldn’t poison his marriage to Naerys or poison the children they would have into thinking she was their grandmother. While a Targaryen looking grandmother would be preferable, Daenerys was just too volatile.

Their plan, however, was good. Perfect even. It worked around the Spider’s blind spots and would force the other side’s hand, specifically Naerys’. She would be begging to marry him. Begging him to bed her. Begging him to put a babe in her. He would do it. He would burn the world to the ground for her if she asked him to, she didn’t even have to beg. 

She might not _love_ him as he did her, at first, but she would learn to. And once he had that love, he would put out the remaining fires and reward her for the love and loyalty given. 

Jaehaerys opened one of the drawers of his desk and pulled out a blue ribbon. It had been almost since Naerys had worn it. It had unraveled from her hair and had dropped to the ground without her noticing until much later, she had not worried about it since she had plenty of other blue ribbons, but Jaehaerys felt like this one matched her eyes almost exactly. 

He closed his eyes. Joanna was spending time with his mother, no doubt asking to marry him, which his mother would refuse. He was holding off on whores until he knew the bastard situation was taken care of. Naerys wasn’t an option. He would never take her outside the marriage bed, no matter how _hard_ it was.

Jaehaerys wrapped the ribbon around his hand and then proceeded to undo the laces of his trousers. It did not take long for him to work himself over into a release, Naerys’ name upon his lips like a prayer. He could imagine her under him, whimpering and mewling softly as she clawed at his back, bringing him closer with her heel. He could imagine the referent whisper of his name upon her lips. 

 _Mine,_ his thoughts echoed. _Mine._

—

Jaehaerys watched in disgust as Naerys leaned against the Dornishman’s side, their arms locked. She’s whispering to him and apparently tells him something funny because he laughs. There is something inherently wrong with watching the woman he loved fluttering her eyes at someone so utterly unworthy of her affection. The way she let him press his lips to the crown of her head. If he had a choice, he would strangle the Dornishman now and be done with it, the only thing protecting him was his house name. 

“She looks so happy,” Joanna said, coming up next to him. “Don’t you think?” He ignored her even as she slid her arm through his. “They make quite the pair. Her red hair and his Dornish curls make a lovely portrait. I would commission one right now if I knew it would be done well.”

“You would do well to hold your tongue, Joanna.”

“I don’t understand why you are so hung up on her,” the Dornish girl said. “She’s nothing but an obstacle between you and your throne. If you chose me, I would be able to get rid of the obstacle.”

Jaehaerys took her wrist and squeezed it till the point of almost crushing it, the pain enough to cause her to wince instead of her usual breathy moans of delight. “If you threaten her again, I will make sure you regret it.”

Naerys was _his._ None could have her but him. He could bring out the fire of her dragon if she would just let him. She was _his._ Tame the wolf, release the dragon.

His gaze shifted to the wildling prince. 

Soon. 

Soon everything would fall into place. 

—

He would apologize to her later. He would apologize for having to scare her, for having to almost hurt her. But she would forgive him. In time. She would laugh with him over her foolishness, over her initial reluctance. She might even recall enjoying it once she looked back upon it with love in her gaze. She would beg him to ruin her after remembering. Beg him to pound into her with abandon. Cry out for him to go harder, faster and he would give it to her. Give it to her until they spilled over into pleasure and he would give her a child from that union, of screams and scratches and pleasure. 

But now, she had to be frightened. 

He had to plan it just right. 

“Naerys.”

She turned to look at him and was only slightly surprised to find her eyes as calm as a clear sky. “Jaehaerys.”

“I hear you’ve accepted the betrothal from the Dornish bastard.”

“Prince,” she corrected. “And yes. I have.”

“You don’t honestly think Grandfather will agree to it.”

“You don’t honestly think Grandfather would risk losing Dorne or his heir over the idea of betrothing me to you.”

“He’s already got a bastard, what’s to say he won’t find comfort in another.”

“I find that worry rather hilarious coming from you.”

“You are at least vaguely aware of my… unique appetite… I would seek no other bed but ours save for when I don’t wish to hurt you.”

“How reassuring,” she said, turning from him. 

Now. 

He grabbed her by the crook of her arm and pushed her against the wall. Once they were married she wouldn’t be able to walk alone anymore. 

“Let go, Jaehaerys.”

“Tell me, does he want you as much as I do?” He forced her hand to touch the tenting of his trousers. Her lips twitched, but the rest of her face attempted to remain impassive. Jaehaerys’ jaw clenched as he could not help but rut once into her hand for some relief. Her hand recoiled from him and she pressed herself against the wall to get further away from him. He didn’t take it personally. Instead, he stepped forward, pushing one of his knees between her thighs until he was pressed up to her leg like a dog in heat. He cupped her face in his hands and she scowled that time. 

“Tell me, does he want you as much as I?”

“Let go,” she hissed, struggling against him and Jaehaerys groaned against the friction against his aching cock. 

He groaned and held her hands down, how he wanted to touch her. But it was not the time. He buried his face in her neck and could smell the lavender and honey against her skin and he kissed her just at her pulse point at the base of her neck. 

“Let go,” her voice was trembling as she fought against him, trying to push him off with her thigh, arching slightly off the wall to push his chest away, his mouth away. “Stop it.”

He wanted to tell her it would be over soon, but he also wanted more. He began to rut again, trying to find some relief. He let go of her hand and she tried pushing at his shoulder, but he forced her legs wider apart until he could shift in the apex of her thighs. 

“Stop it.”

Licked the tears sliding down her neck. 

“Stop!” She was whimpering and trying to be free. “Stop!”

Jaehaerys was ripped from her with such force that he stumbled and fell against the opposite wall. 

Aemon had his sword drawn and had it aimed in Jaehaerys’ face. 

The prince smirked. 

Perfect. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can barely write sex scenes, I was not going to write Jaehaerys wanking off.
> 
> But yeah, creepy. No more to say than that except that Jaeh has a horribly good plan.


	45. Aemon VI

Aemon saw red. 

He had moved before he had even processed the urge to bite and kill and destroy. The image of that monster rutting against her as she was pleading for him to stop would be forever etched in his memory, haunting him even if he had her safe in his arms. 

Naerys was sobbing quietly behind him, clutching the back of his tunic. He could feel the way her hands were trembling. Her face was pressed against him and he could feel her tears soaking through the fabric. Aemon wanted nothing more than to hold Naerys close and whisper to her that everything would be alright, that she would be safe, but he needed his eyes to remain upon the monster that had fallen before him. He knew full well to never turn his back upon a hissing snake. And the boy before him was nothing more than a pathetic snake. 

His lips curled into a beer when he saw the prince’s smirk. Was he happy with what he had done, bringing Naerys to tears and making her shake with fear, she who was as strong as giant’s bones. He had never seen her so distressed. She had no way of protecting herself as the women Aemon had grown up with had. She could not fight against a man stealing her as Jaehaerys night. She needed protection and he would not let this snake hurt her. Aemon held his sword without a hint of doubt in his hand. He would take the boy’s head on in an instant. He could. He really could. 

“What are you going to do, Wildling?” The Targaryen boy leered. “Kill me?”

“Gladly,” Aemon growled. 

“No,” Naerys’ choker voice came from behind him. He kept his sword towards the boy but glanced at her. Her eyes were red and the tears were still flowing down her cheeks. “You can’t hurt him.”

Aemon felt his anger rising. “He deserves death! Can you not see what he’s done to you?!”

“I know what he has almost done to me, but if you kill him then you will die and I can’t lose you we need you. Aemon, please.”

“Yes, Aemon,” Jaehaerys sneered. “We wouldn’t want to put the princess in even more of a tight spot. Wouldn’t want people to think she’s already soiled, would we?”

“Hold your tongue,” Aemon growled. 

“Aemon, please.”

“You should listen to the princess.” He smirked. “Wouldn’t want to ruin her chances.”

Aemon tried to surge forward but stopped when he felt Naerys holding onto his shirt even tighter.

“Take me to the gardens, Aemon,” she said is a small whisper, frightened. “Please.”

Aemon kept his eyes on Jaehaerys, but she ether his sword and escorted Naerys away from that place. 

—

In the end, it is Naerys who leads him to the gardens, her step growing surer and stronger with every one taken. The tears have since dried from her cheeks, but a few servants had taken note of the princess’ appearance saddened, but said nothing. 

Cowards, Aemon thought of them. Cowards for not protesting their princess. Cowards for not speaking against the prince if he felt as though he could do such a thing where any of them might see it. 

Naerys led them to the center of the maze and stopped, letting go of Aemon’s arm and then turning to him. “That was very foolish.”

He gasped at her. “Foolish?”

“What if someone had seen you?”

“Seen me?” Aemon asked, incredulous. 

“What if someone had seen you aiming your sword at him?!”

“Then I would have told them honestly why I felt the need to!”

Her cheeks turned a fiery red. “You would do no such thing. Do you have any idea what people would have me do if they saw me in such a position.” She looked away. “I suppose it is by the grace of the gods that it was you who found me, but you cannot be so foolish as to raise your sword against Jaehaerys like that when he was unarmed.”

Aemon felt his temper flare. “He would have forced himself upon you! He should be gelded for such a crime!”

“If he were any other man, then he would be, but he is a prince and my grandfather’s favored grandchild. You would have been punished for raising your sword to him.”

Aemon looked away, anger bubbling in his stomach. He turned back to her and took her hand in his. “Come away with me,” he begged. “Once the Others are defeated, we can make our home beyond the Wall, like I told you.”

“Aemon—”

“I cannot leave you alone with that monster.”

“I won’t be alone.” She looked down at their joined hands and squeezed them before looking up to him. Her blue eyes clear of any doubt or worry. “Daemon proposed to me and I have accepted. He and I will marry as soon as we get my grandfather’s approval. I won’t be alone, Daemon will, and can, protect me.”

The Dornish man was a great fighter equally matched to Aemon in many respects. Surely the boy would be able to protect her. 

“Naerys…” he stepped closer to her. He felt the usual thrum of his blood as he drew closer to her, the familiar song of his beating heart and her soft breath mixing with his. He nuzzled her face with his. “Can you not come with me? Dís the gods not fashion is for one another?”

He closed his eyes, intent to claim her lips with his own, just once. Could the gods not let him taste her just once. She pulled away and Aemon was forced to open his eyes and look into hers. 

“Perhaps if I were not a princess or you not a wildling prince. But, I cannot abandon my people. I would never be true to myself if I did so.” She pressed her forehead to his again, but her lips were far from his own. “I cannot go north of the Wall with you Aemon. I don’t think I ever could.”

Aemon wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair, holding back butter tears. 

—

Aemon allowed himself to wallow. 

He had told himself, coming south, that should the one who warged into Lady already be attached to someone, he would be content with loving them from afar. That had been before he had met her though, before he had felt her fit perfectly in his arms, before he heard her laugh, before he had seen her smile. 

Daemon was a good boy, strong, dedicated. It was obvious to Aemon that he cared for her, that he loved her. The northern prince supposed thee was no better man he could leave Naerys to. He would protect her and Aemon would have to be content with those stolen moments where he and Naerys might run through the fields of ice in their wolves. 

He would have to be content. 

Aemon stopped in his tracks when he saw the Targaryen princess, the one with the same coloring as the king, ordering servants about to find proper furniture and other things that Aemon could not connect a name to an object. 

“Do you need any help, your grace?” Aemon asked. He might as well do something useful. He couldn’t practice with his sword for he might actually kill someone so he just needed to feel useful. 

The Targaryen woman turned to look at Aemon with her violet eyes. They narrowed at him, looking him over once. “You’re the wildling boy, aren’t you?”

“Aemon Steelsong,” he said with an awkward tip of his head. “May I help?”

She sighed. “I suppose you would be more helpful than this lot, they’re not that strong, but my niece, Margaery is using the stronger ones to prepare moving around Jaehaerys’ things.”

Aemon narrowed his eyes. “Why would his things need to be moved around?”

“For the wedding of course.”

Aemon blinked. “Wedding? What wedding?”

“For Jaehaerys and Naerys, of course.”

Aemon’s stomach clenched. “I think you even misheard, your grace. Naerys is to marry Daemon. She’s already agreed to marry him.”

The woman, Daenerys, that had been her name, laughed. “My dear boy, I think you are confused. While Prince Daemon has proposed to my sweet grand-niece, the king plans to continue with the panned engagement and marriage between Jaehaerys and Naerys.”

“But…” 

“It’s a shame really,” the woman said sadly. “Prince Daemon seems like such a kind boy, but he’s bound by the laws and customs of Westeros. I suppose it would be hard for you to understand, but it’s the way things are. Naerys shall marry Jaehaerys, my brother has already made the declaration ready to be made before the courts tomorrow morning.”

“But he’s a monster,” Aemon said, anger and fear twisting together in his stomach. 

“But he’s a Targaryen prince. I’m sorry dear boy, but Naerys shall marry Jaehaerys. I know not what _your_ customs are, but once they are married, Jaehaerys can do whatever he wishes to Naerys and none may stop him as she will belong only to him.” She sighed. “The poor dear.” Daenerys looked at him with an inquisitive eye. “It is a shame that no one can take her away from all this. She feels it’s her duty, but if she were only allowed to be shown the freedom she could have.” She sighed again. “The poor dear.”

—

She was crying. 

Naerys was curled upon a bed of thorns and roses. Blood pricks were scattered across her skin like freckles as she sobbed helplessly.  

 _Aemon,_ she was crying for him. She curled in more on herself and she cried out as the thorns tore at her bruised ivory skin. 

“Naerys,” Aemon begged. “I'm coming!”

He waded through the bed of thrones, letting them tear up the skin of his hands and knees. He needed to get to her quickly. He needed to save her. 

A babe was crying, screaming. 

_D–Aemon!_

“I’m coming!”

She was holding a child now, a child with dark hair and slightly tanned skin. 

“I’m coming!”

 _You were supposed to protect her!_ His own voice echoed across his mind. 

 _Don’t hurt him!_ Naerys came begging. _Please, don’t hurt him!_

“Naerys!”

_D–Aemon!_

“I’m coming!”

The babe continued to cry. 

 _You have to take her,_ Naerys voice came in a hushed tone. 

 _No, I cannot leave you,_ came Daemon’s. _Please don’t ask this of me._

“Naerys!”

Suddenly, the bed of thorns and roses were gone. Naerys was on the floor and Aemon could finally reach her. 

“Naerys!”

Aemon fell to his knees and cradled her in his arms. She was bleeding, a sword wound upon her chest, her heart bare to him. Her skin was sprinkled with bruises of black and blue and brown. Her clothes were stained red with her own blood and her hair was limp and lifeless. 

“Naerys, please. Naerys!”

She looked at him, her eyes distant. She reached for his cheek. _D–Aemon..._

Her fingers had barely brushed against his skin before it fell limply to the ground. Her body grew heavy, broken in his arms. 

Aemon shot from his bed, a scream locked in his throat. 

He _had_ to protect her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can anyone guess what the plan was and what Aemon is going to do?
> 
> Naerys get a POV next...


	46. Naerys VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is almost 3k words!!!! Enjoy!
> 
> Okay, so, just for some clarification, Aegon was not a part of this plan at all, yes he wants his son to be king, but he was not a part of the planning in this situation.

Naerys awoke to a hand over her mouth. 

She jolted slightly and began to panic. Knife. Daemon had given her a knife. She flakes for it for a second before her eyes adjusted and saw that it was Aemon. Her fear melted into relief and sleep so desperately wanted to claim her. He seemed to sense her lack of struggle and released his hand from her mouth.

Lady growled softly at him, but Naerys was too exhausted to examine that. 

“Aemon?” she asked, her eyelids heavy. “What are you doing here?”

He looked wild. His dark hair was a mess and his winter kissed skin was pale, dark circles were under his eyes and they were rimmed with red as though he had been crying. He was fully dressed and Naerys wasn’t sure if he actually had sleep clothes as she did.

Her mind began to drift. Did he only own one pair of clothes from beyond the wall? She knew the clothes he had been wearing were gifts from her Uncle Theon since it was too hot for their winter clothes. Her mind continued to drift. 

“We need to leave.” He took her by the hand and pulled her from her bed. The air was cool against her skin and the moon was still high in the sky, still visible from her balcony. Aemon took off his fur cloak and draped it around her shoulders protectively.

Such a strange dream. 

She was pulled from her room and it was only then that her mind shifted into focus. 

“What have you done,” she whispered. It wasn’t a question because she could see what he had done. 

The two guards her parents had posted at her door were on the floor. She couldn’t see any blood, but Aemon pulled her away before she could check on them. Jeffory’s wife just had a baby last month and Aryn was saving up to buy fabric for his little sister’s wedding dress. 

“I just knocked them out,” Aemon said, pulling her until he had his arm around her and was moving them quickly and quietly down the hall. 

Hoping not to wake anyone or bring any notice to them, Naerys began to struggle. “Aemon,” she said, her voice trembling. “Aemon, let me go.”

“It’s going to be okay,” he assured her. 

“Just let me go back to my room, Aemon,” she said, putting her hand on his chest as though he were a wild beast. “Please, just take me back.”

“I can’t,” he said, his voice cracked and he sounded as though he was going to cry. “I can’t let him hurt you.”

“Aemon, no one is going to hurt me,” she tried to assure him. She could feel his heart beating wildly against her hand. “Aemon—”

“You said you were going to marry Daemon,” he said, his voice rougher now, threaded with anger. 

“I am,” she said. “Aemon, please, take me back to my room. Please, before someone sees us.”

“She said you were going to marry Jaehaerys. I can’t let that happen. Not him. Never him.”

“Who said that? Aemon, please. Take me back to my room.” She raised her voice only a little bit, hoping to put her point across. Lady began to whimper and Ghost began to growl. 

“Your aunt, the silver-haired woman. She said you would marry  _ him! _ ”

Naerys’ heart nearly stopped. “No, no, no, no. Aemon, take me back to my room. Take me to my parents. Please, please. It’s a trap. Take me back.”

“I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

“Aemon, please,” tears began to catch on her lashes as she began to struggle in earnest. “You can’t steal me. Please. Think about the Others. You can’t do this.”

“You’re more important, Naerys. I can’t.”

“Aemon, please. Let me go.” His arm tightened around her and Lady continued to whimper. “Let me go!”

He turned and grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly. “I can’t watch you die again!”

“There they are!”

They both turned and Naerys was horrified to see that it was Jaehaerys and her Uncle Aegon with a few of their men. Ser Podrick was there, his eyes wide and fearful. Jeffory and Aryn were there as well and if Naerys weren’t close to tears she would ask them if they were alright. 

“Aemon,” Ser Podrick said carefully. “I’m going to have to ask you to let Naerys go.” His gaze turned to her. “Are you alright, Princess?”

She nodded her head quickly. 

“Let her go, wildling,” Uncle Aegon said carefully. He had his sword out. The Valyrian steel seemed to shine upon the moonlight. “If you just let her go, we can all go back to bed like nothing happened. This is just a cultural misunderstanding.” He shifted his sword so it was in one hand and held it down, lifting his bow free hand up to show he meant no harm. “I know you don’t want to hurt her, but you’re hurting her now. Let her go, boy.”

“I’m not your boy, Targaryen,” Aemon growled, his lip curling. 

“Aemon, please,” Naerys begged. “Let me go. It’s going to be alright. Just let me go and we can forget.”

“He’s going to kill you Naerys! He’s going to kill you! I can’t leave you here!”

“She said let her go!” Jaehaerys shouted, stepping toward them. 

“Stay back!” Aemon howled. 

Naerys barely turned her head when she saw Ghost lungs for her cousin, his fangs clamping down on Jaehaerys’ shoulder, missing his neck completely, but the scream of pain and horror rang across the stones of the Red Keep. 

“Jaehaerys!” her uncle shouted. 

“Stay back!” Aemon shouted, pulling his own sword and aiming it at the group surrounding them. 

“Aemon! Stop!” Naerys shouted. 

Lady growled and snapped at Aemon’s hand, causing him to drop his sword and let her go in surprise. Her knees gave out and Lady was at her side in an instant, circling around her protectively until she allowed Naerys to wrap her arms around her neck and bury her face in her neck. 

“Stop,” she begged allowing the tears to flow freely. “Please stop.”

—

They were in her grandfather’s solar.

The entire royal family with members of the small council, the Starks, and Daemon gathered in the king’s rooms. Maester Uther was tending to Jaehaerys’ wound. The Maester admitted to not being certain if he would be able to properly use the arm again and would be better able to look at it in the coming hours if the morning. 

Aemon was forced onto his knees by guards. He had struggled only ever so slightly, but had seemed to calm down when Podrick had been forced to put a make-shift muzzle onto Ghost. 

Naerys was in her mother’s arms, her father at her back. Both were whispering softly to her, the only real noise in the eerily silent room, calming her down. Once she had started to cry, she found she couldn’t stop. She was no longer Naerys Targaryen, Princess of Summerhall, second in line for the throne. She was simply Naerys, daughter of Jon and Sansa. For a moment, that’s all she was until the gravity of what had happened crumbled around her and she held onto her mother more tightly. 

Naerys’ grandfather sat in his seat and all was quiet. It was easy to forget that her grandfather was a proficient warrior, even if that was not necessarily by preference. She sometimes forgot the weight the man before her held. His words could start wars and end them. A nod of his head could end a life and a wave of his hand could save it. A king that had almost been loved, but now held in contempt and fear. 

“I let you into my home,” the king said carefully, his violet eyes dark. “I gave you food and listened to your council.” He stood. Her grandfather was a tall man. He stood above them all. Naerys never felt so small. “I have done more for your people than any king, both Targaryen and not, before me. And this is how you repay me?” His lips curled into a snarl. “By trying to kidnap my granddaughter, my heir’s only child? You meant to take my granddaughter, to  _ steal  _ her?  _ Rape  _ her?”

“I would  _ never  _ hurt her,” Aemon growled. “I was trying to protect her.”

“Your grace,” Daemon said. “ _ Prince  _ Aemon cares for Naerys, everyone—”

“Silence!” Rhaegar roared. 

Alys began to cry softly, startled by the noise and Aunt Arya began to rock her gently, soothing her as Uncle Viserys supported his baby daughter’s back. 

The air grew still once more. 

The king sat down upon his chair. He turned to look at Daemon. “You forget your place,  _ Ser  _ Daemon Martell. You and your house may have been allowed to keep your royal titles, but you forget your place. You are still one of my subjects. What right do you have to speak my granddaughter’s name without her own title?”

“Grandfather—” Naerys began. 

But he ignored her. “You claim the Others, an enemy that will affect us all is coming and you are to help lead armies into battle, yet you were ready to throw away everything to kidnap my granddaughter and force yourself on her.” Aemon merely glared at him in return. “And when my eldest son offered you a way out, you refused. And when my grandson tried to defend her honor, your wolf attacked him. You’re lucky my grandson is not in critical condition or else we would not even be talking now. I would already have your head mounted on a spike. Instead, I’m allowing you to know what exactly is going to happen because of your actions.”

Naerys shuddered. Her mother smoothed out her hair as her father held her shoulder gently, his thumb rubbing a small circled into the lean muscle. 

“You will be executed for your crimes against the royal family, for harming and attempted rape. Your fellow wildlings will be sent back to the wall with none of our promised aid or future shipments of dragonglass. Whatever glass that has already been shipped will be returned and used to arm only those who have bent the knee. Your people—your women, children, and elderly—will not be allowed south of the Wall and I will send more men to man it so that you will not be able to cross. Your war shall be fought by your people and your people alone. We shall handle it only after.”

“Fathers,” Naerys’ own said. 

“You can’t be serious,” Uncle Aegon continued. “This fight isn’t just theirs.”

The king held up his hand to silence his sons. “They hand not bent the knee. They have not sworn any vows to us nor us to them.” He looked to Aemon as though he were a bug. “Jon,” he turned to his Hand. “Make it clean. I don’t want to bother the servants too much with cleaning.”

Aemon began to struggle in earnest as the guards who held him forced him low to the ground until his brow was pressing against the ground. 

Everyone began speaking at once as Jon Connington unsheathed his sword. 

“Father, you can’t!” Naerys’ own shouted. 

“Rhaegar!” shouted her grandmother. 

“Your grace, he’s just a boy!” Princess Elia’s voice came. 

“Your grace!”

“Your grace!”

“Have mercy!”

“Your grace!”

Naerys looked at Aemon and everything went quiet. She saw that he had forced the floor under his chin as he lifted his head up.  _ I love you _ , he mouthed, perhaps even whispered. 

She looked up and away and saw Aunt Daenerys looking at her, studying her, her head tilted expectantly. Aunt Margaery looked to her as well, although her eyes were more focused away from Aemon.  _ You could save him,  _ she mouthed. Naerys looked at Jaehaerys and saw him smirking. He looked at her as a dog might look at its cornered prey. 

She had not even properly played the game and she lost 

“STOP,” Naerys shouted, pulling herself away from her mother’s hold. She stood before Jon Connington and Aemon. “You will not touch him!”

Lady prowled up next to her, her ears flat and her lips curled into a snarl. “You will  _ not  _ touch him.” She turned to her grandfather and met his violet gaze. 

“Naerys,” he said, his voice hiding a tremble of anger. “Move aside.”

“No.”

“You have nothing to bargain with, sweetling. Step aside.”

Her stomach began to churn. “The fight against the Others is bigger than all of us. We need to stand together or we will lose. Aemon still has a part to play and regardless of if he has broken our laws, he is a visiting prince from those we wish to make our allies.” She took a steadying breath. “I have the two things every woman of royal birth has to bargain. My body and my womb. If you let Aemon go, if you give everything already agreed upon to help his people and the Northmen prepare for the fight as we gather and prepare our own forces, I will marry Jaehaerys.”

“Naerys, no—” Aemon began but she turned to look at him and he stopped. 

She returned her gaze forward and looked at Daemon. She could see that future. She truly could. A boy with blue eyes and dark curly hair. A girl with red hair and eyes the color of rich earth. She wanted that future. She would have been happy in that future. 

But she was to be queen one day, was she not? And happiness was the one thing queens never had. 

_ I’m sorry _ , she mouthed to him, the main who owned half her heart, the part that had still remembered her duty. Naerys returned her gaze to her grandfather. 

“I’m to be queen after my father, am I not?” She asked, her chin lifted high. 

“You are.”

“I will marry Jaehaerys as my consort. Just let Aemon go so that we won’t the Iron Throne won’t rule over a land of ice and bone.”

—

“You should say goodbye to him.”

Naerys turned from her place under the shade of the overhang. Daemon stood before her, wearing the colors of his house. Naerys had begun wearing the colors of House Targaryen again, putting away the beautiful Dornish dresses and silks, no longer feeling worthy of them. 

She looked back to the courtyard where her Uncle Robb and the rest of the Northern party prepared to embark on their return journey with a few extra men that were to travel with them North. 

“How can you be so kind to me?” Naerys asked. “I ended our engagement to save the life of another man.”

Daemon stepped closer to her. “If you had let Aemon, one of our greatest weapons against how to fight against the Others, die, you would not have been the future queen I was ready to follow. The girl I eventually found myself in love with when I thought I wouldn’t be able to open my heart to anyone like that again.” He looked out at the gathering men. “Your grandfather won’t allow you North, not for the foreseeable future. Say goodbye. The gods connected you for a reason. You’ll regret it if you don’t say goodbye.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek and left her what little privacy an open courtyard could give. 

Naerys closed her eyes, wringing her hands together as she went to him. She was sending Lady with the party. Direwolves did not belong in the South. They didn’t even belong south of the Wall. 

“Aemon,” she said carefully. He froze as he saddled his horse and tightened the straps underneath it. He turned to look at her. “I’m sorry.”

His hands fell to his sides. “Why… why are you apologizing.”

She looked at her clasped hands. “I led you on when I should have known that whatever it is that the gods have formed between us would have gone nowhere.” She looked up at him. “I am to be queen one day and lead my people into a brighter future. You are the leader your people have chosen. I cannot abandon mine, just as I cannot ask you to abandon yours.” She took his hand between hers. “Winter is coming,” she said. “I wish for you to find happiness one day, Aemon.” She chewed her lip. “One day, you will find a queen amongst your people who will be worthy of you.”

His eyes grew dark and then he shifted onto one knee, kneeling before her like a Southron knight. 

“Aemon—”

“You are my queen,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “Now and always.”

Naerys’ breath caught in her throat and she pulled him up quickly. “You are my equal, one heir to another. Please.” He stood before her once more. “Let us part as equals.”

He nodded and then looked her in the eye. “Might I steal one thing from you,” he said softly. “Just one?”

She nodded. 

Aemon cupped her face in his hands, his head tilted ever so slightly and his lips pressed tenderly against hers. His lips were chapped and the hair of his beard ticked her chin and cheek. It felt like it lasted forever, but it could have only lasted a few seconds. 

He pulled back from her slowly. “Goodbye, your grace.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo..... don’t hate me?


	47. Author’s Note

I have decided that I will stop this fic. This has nothing really do do with the comments or anything like that. I’ve found that I’ve truly written myself in a corner in a way and while I know what happens next and how this ends, I can’t quite figure out how to get us there.   
However, I have a plan for how to technically continue this fic for your enjoyment.   
Here we go:

I plan on writing a two part series that takes place in the same universe as this fic but is sort of an AU of this AU. The first part, entitled **_Actions Speak Louder_** will focus on Jonsa and their relationship, fixing some of the problems people have mentioned before about their relationship while also better establishing their generation’s politics and motivations. Because of the planned events of this fic, the events of PIS would be shifted just enough that I would need to rewrite it. The second part of the series would be PIS which would focus on the second generation characters while also continuing the plots of the original fic. The characters in this second version of _**Porcelain, Ivory, Steel**_ will have slightly different motivations and personalities, although not too different. However, the ending I had planned for this fic will be the ending of the second version/retelling so I shall not reveal what that ending is. 

I am sorry for the inconvenience and am sorry for all the readers who have enjoyed this version of the story thus far, but I think you will all enjoy the newer version that I have planned and will find the story just as engaging but even more in depth than before.  
The first part in this series will begin Monday and will have the same release schedule as this fic. I plan on leaving this version of the fic up so that you may all reread your favorite parts if you so wish to.

Once again, I’m sorry for the inconvenience!


	48. New Fic Now Up

The first chapter of the new version of this fic is up now!

[ _**HERE** _ ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22772869/chapters/54416557)

**Author's Note:**

> I made a family tree for Targs, Starks, and Martells. Enjoy: https://fromtheboundlesssea.tumblr.com/post/187149988708/targaryen-stark-martell-the-martell-one-is-not
> 
> Contact me @fromtheboundlesssea on tumblr. I take prompts occasionally and I answer random questions, especially about my fics 😘


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